I’m Flashing Down Brit Grit Alley

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In my latest Brit Grit Alley column, I’ve posted one of my earliest flash fiction yarns:

The Sharpest Tools In The Box by Paul D. Brazill

“It’s friggin obvious, Browny”, said Kenny.

Kenny Cokehead was waving his arms around like a windmill. In his hands he had
a couple of CDs that he’d found in the glove compartment of Mikey The Mechanic’s
BMW: Hot Stuff by Donna Summer and the soundtrack to Saturday Night Fever.

“It stands to reason, don’t it? Look at this stuff. Clear as day. He’s an arse bandit, dinner masher …”

I zoned out. Kenny Cokehead was was really living up to his nickname; he was snotty nosed and talking ten to the dozen. Me, I was trying my hardest to concentrate on manipulating the BMW round Seatown’s darkened side streets.

This was proving to be a bit of a problem. For one thing, the car was a left hand drive – which looked very cool this side of the pond but made it pretty difficult to maneuver
– and another factor was that we didn’t want anyone to see us, so we were driving
without using the headlights.

Since most of the streetlights had been smashed out around here-and most of the terraced houses have been boarded up- I was doing about as well as Stevie Wonder.

The situation wasn’t exactly helped by the fact that my full bladder felt ready to burst. And then there was Kenny who, like most cokeheads, had got a degree in stating the friggin obvious. And repeating it ad infinitum.’

Read the rest at OUT OF THE GUTTER ONLINE.

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