His name was Kendal, like the mint cake.
Stupid name I know but this time you couldn’t blame the parents.
Kendal was an angel.
Last time I saw him was in a seedy hole called Flamingo’s on Simpson Street, an empty tumbler was on the table in front of him and his hand gripped it, the knuckles strained.
He sat like that for maybe an hour, staring at the wood panelling opposite but obviously seeing something different to the dark grain. Occasionally his eyes would flick to his hand and the empty glass and he’d turn it, then back to wood or space.
Troubled.
Oh my, was that interesting?
alisondarke 