This blog is full of Wee Fictions (and poetry, too)
Sunday, 4 March 2012
It was just off Byres Road, a cocktail bar. Popular with would-be pop stars and television presenters. Beautiful people. John, balding, in bottle-end specs and with a jumper tied round his waist, threaded his way through the crowd. Sniggers from the patrons. They didn't know John, not like we did. They didn't know he was the coolest man in the room. If they had, they'd have been all over him like flies.