Trafika Europe 9/10 - UK in Europe

two crimestories

He was still there two hours later, though no longer in the kitchen. He was sitting on the couch in the living room, staring through the glass door into the backyard. “A fat pigeon has been sitting out there for hours, waiting for the cat to pounce.” He spoke with an Irish lilt. I decided not to ask about it though, since my supposed interest might encourage him to stay. As far as I was concerned, he could vanish this very moment in a puff of smoke or crumble into a pile of dust. I decided to actually tell him this in so many words. Flann shrugged. “I can’t. I now belong to you.” I said: “I don’t want you!”

He couldn’t have cared less. “I would like to remind you again about the coffee,” is all he said. “You have to leave!” He laughed. “Where would I go?” “No idea. One door down? Sandra would certainly be delighted, since her son has the second sight.” “I’m a Púca. I stay where I am.” I held my smartphone under his nose and announced, not without a trace of victory: “No, you’re not. I looked it up. Read it yourself. Púcas come in animal form.” He threw a bored look at the display. “How many Púcas do you think the poor idiot who wrote that

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