Colossi
By Fred Johnson 1. What a day: went as usual to Mr Kebab Express. Ordered pizza—twelve-inch special, no olives, can of Irn Bru. Was waiting around like normal, sat on the old wooden bench and whatnot, twiddling the proverbial, when Sohrab calls my name. Nothing strange yet, I know, but wait, greedy fucker, wait— Sohrab—or […]