It’s raining, it’s storming, and you’re travelling by bus and by train to come home. I’ll be there at the station, on the corner, hood up high and fists firm in pockets, grinning clenched teeth through the sheets of shit, lit by passing cars and streetlamps (I don't mean the streetlamps will be passing, they'll most likely be stationary). You’ll wave and wait for a break in traffic and then make a dash across to say hi and happy weekend. We’ll walk home fast and maybe haunt a pub for quick practice drink if the rain gets too heavy. And we'll spruce up and head out, or pour a bigger drink and stay in. We can do whatever we want. It's the weekend.
Monday, 10 February 2014
“Badly Town captures the essence of the street so acutely that occasional games of street-cricket are mistakenly played upon a single paper-back copy. The crowded bowler, batsmen, fielders and wheelie-bin remain utterly oblivious.”
- The Evening Stranded
“Badly Town adroitly articulates it is far more dangerous to fear the fear of fearing fear than to not fear fear, or rather to not fear as a fear the fear of fear to be feared at all.”
- The Fine n’ Chill Times
“Inhabited cheek to jowl to heaving bosom by big, strong tough guys and the babes that love them, Badly Town is one sexily erotic romance. Plus crime. Plus drama.”
- Harold’s Son
*See what all these real life critics are raving about, click here to enter the murkily sexy and dangerously murky world of Badly Town.