Trafika Europe 9/10 - UK in Europe

two crimestories

glasses, others beer cans. I had just gone shopping yesterday, but clearly I would have to go back to the store as soon as they all left. I cursed my English courtesy that prevented me from kicking them all out. “Something stronger would work,” Sandra said. “He would have liked that. He loved his whisky.” “There was some on the bookshelf,” somebody called from the living room. “It’s empty now.” “He would have liked that,” Sandra repeated. “What’s a Púca?” I asked. Just to make sure, she stuck her head in the fridge once more before answering: “I don’t believe in stuff like that.

Nobody does.” “He did.” I noticed that I was not pointing toward his house, but toward the backyard where we had always met. Sandra waved it off. “Flann, yes. He told me about him, but I don’t believe in things like that. He would even go to the pub with his invisible friend. They had a regular table, the two of them.” She made a gesture that indicated she thought the old man had been crazy. “The others say he’d been running around with Flann for at least a decade.” A man I’d never seen before walked into my tiny kitchen and opened the fridge. “You’re out of beer,” he said. “I’m sorry,” I replied.

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