Fiona K. Haborak

These days, he’s a corpse. An automaton crookedly shambling down the migraine-inducing neon strip, wrinkled suit wet from stale liquor and sweat. He squints while trying to bring her lazy image into focus. An out-of-focus apparition makes him lose track of time. The face of his watch suffers a splinter from his most recent bender. 

‘Lo and behold, there she is, amongst the sea of tourists and one-day marriage lovebirds, with that handsome magazine man by her stick-thin side. Mafia, he suspects, by the way he’s packing, […]