I’ll spin you a thousand stories around Clubland – how it began, the type of people who come here to drink themselves to death, the people who sit in the shadows, those who live high up above the city, the kings and princes of organised crime. But really there is only one story here. Clubland is like a dentist drill,…Read More
Jack. Blinks. Shadows swirl around him. Colours and ragged shapes in perpetual, sickening motion. Noise. A gnawing hive of irritating sound vomited up from Hell. Feet shuffling, skuttling. Insect-like, burrowing into his skin and bone. The hiss of air interrupted by screeching voices, in pain, lost. Behind it all, the boom-boom-boom of the city. An atavistic, primordial call that…Read More
There was something dripping, either in the house or in her head. She wasn’t sure. It was probably in her head. Most things were. There goes mad Mavis, talking to herself, banging her ugly bonce. Mad, mad, Mavis. The poor girl.
