Step out of your toga and into the fog

Written by

Sandy swung heavily and missed. The other man stuck his hands in his trench coat pockets. “Sadly,” he said, “I cannot support your continued existence.” Then he strolled away into the night’s fog, shoulders broad.

Sandy stood there huffing in the cold, his fists still in balls, confused.

[Seriously, why haven’t you pre-ordered Kaputt yet?]

Got something to say?