The skin of death stretches over the racetrack.
It does not haunt the track, the cars, or the drivers, but lays like a mask on the face of a man, a dark man, elegantly dressed, and vigilant. He is the only man not sweating. He is stern,
For the real Marco.
A man stood at the edge of a large, shallow artificial pond. Something caught his eye, an object bobbing on the otherwise smooth surface of the water. For a
Death in the Castle
There he was, just as I expected him to be, sat in the castle grounds reading The Times, a respectable looking man enjoying the last few mo
Floyd swung open the glass door. It was earlier than he’d usually arrive to the diner. He had energy, and a fierce appetite. Sliding off his bulky knapsack and dropping it to the floor, he took a stool at the counter and snapped open a menu. The