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I turned away. My day had enough shit in it already without me piling more on. The funeral had gone well. The five of us had mourned in silence, a small group of strangers in dark clothes pretending to care about each other. Making small talk and forgetting the question as soon as the answer was given. The second that last spoonful of dirt hit the top of that cheap coffin I ran, ran before one of them could ask why I hadn't bought him a headstone. http://dreamreader.net/ 'One more,' I said to the barman. He shook his head, sighed, poured a pint anyway. It was dropped so hard onto the sticky bar that the froth ran down the glass. There were only old receipts and ripped-up photos in my wallet.Before I could own up to it, the man in leather came over. He took out a bundle of notes and threw one down without a word. That was my first meeting with Frank Kagati. In five minutes I was sat opposite him in a booth, enjoying the smell of sweat from his jacket only because it covered up his sickly-sweet aftershave. The door opened behind me as a man left, and as the blinding light swept across the room, cutting through the blackness, it momentarily lit up Frank's face. A red scar ran across his nose, down his lips. His colourless eyes were fixed on mine and he smiled only when he spoke.'Need money?' he said. I downed my pint. His figure wavered opposite me, like a black ship at the bottom of a dark ocean, shimmering and disappearing, then coming back. I nodded.'What for?' he said. I told him how my dad had died and I hadn't had the money to pay for his headstone. Blew it all on booze, and drugs. Frank sat up. For some reason, I told him how much I missed my dad.
