If you could smell my latest short story it would probably reek of mildew and frogspawn. It’s called Dāgônime. You can read it in the latest issue of Wyrd Daze.
Here’s the opening…
By Martin Hayes
A three week wait. It kind of took the shine off the illicit and risqué nature of it all. Illegal drug deals – in the films they always seemed so exciting. But not here. Not in London. Not in the rain and sleet with the thousand-ton grey slate sky hanging inches above your head. Bill stood there like a lemon and held the crumpled fifty in his damp fist and hoped to fuck that it would all be worth it.