The Brothel Creeper: Stories Of Sexual And Spiritual Tension - Plot & Excerpts
In those days the police rode horses and everything still stank of reality. I hurried down a narrow street and took refuge in a bicycle shop, entering as casually as possible and pretending to examine the displays of wheels, gears and chains while the owners pressed their faces to the window to discern the nature of the fuss. I remember leaving without saying a word. I strolled back to the park and smoked a cigarette among the fallen banners. Moona had fixed the radio by the time I returned to my apartment. We turned the dial together with the volume very low, lingering for a few seconds at each foreign music station before finding the official news channel. We had missed the beginning of the broadcast but it was obvious what had happened. When the static became unbearable I switched the device off and rummaged in a cupboard for a bottle of cheap brandy. Our mouths burned as we drained our glasses miserably. “Colonel Bones has declared martial law,” I said. “Because of general dissent,”
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