Contributor: Paul Tristram - - We fought out in the car park we wrestled down onto the ground. I grabbed him by the throat with my head I began to pound. His nose rose up like a balloon blood and snot circled his head. He kneed me in the bollocks my face was green, his was red. We struggled on for ten minutes until both our strength was gone. We were both barred from the pub it didn’t matter who was wrong. I left him wiping at his face came home to drink more beer. I then awoke this sore morning covered in my septic souvenirs. - - - Paul Tristram is a Welsh writer who has poems, short stories and sketches published in many publications around the world, he yearns to tattoo porcelain bridesmaids instead of digging empty graves for innocence at midnight, this too may pass, y...

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Author: Paul Tristram