This is an odd one, and interesting.
W900 by Tom McNulty released in June in the Humorous, Literary Fiction genre.
Hovis Monk had been deceived. Perhaps he always had been. His comfortable life in the Snowdonian bubble, provided by The Blue Yonder Mining Company, was ending.
As his world implodes Hovis spins into a realm of inner and outer realities, chance occurrences, memories, music, luck and laughter.
This story describes the reunion of Hovis with his old Paisley Underground band, a little known group called The Festers, and his struggles with a very special Flame Red Time Trialing Onesey…..
Lance Percival’s ‘Bike U Like’ in Bangor, was probably the finest Cycle emporium in the whole of North Wales. So, it was first port of call after Gwendolyn’s decision to become a living sculpture. Hovis decided to treat himself to a real killer machine. He chose this eighteen-gear, Black and Red ‘Graffiti’ model, which cost him the princely sum of £999.00, nearly 20 years ago.
“Keep the change,” he facetiously remarked to the assistant, whose work tag claimed was called Dave, as he ostentatiously and very deliberately counted out the one hundred £10 notes and slapped them down on the counter, in front of the amazed shop worker.
Dave, suitably irked, responded in kind, asking Hovis if he wanted the bicycle ‘gift wrapping and delivering, or was he in fact, going to ride the machine home?’
“If so, may I say, that Sir will be needing a helmet. However, I think that we’ll be able to throw in a cheap one for free,” he offered, with a sickly and sycophantic smile on his face.
“Actually,” said Hovis, “I’d like the thing delivering to this address,” and he furnished Dave with his card giving the location of No.37. “You don’t need to gift wrap it, it’ll be just fine as it is,” he offhandedly added as he headed for the door.
“If you’re from the mountains,” said Dave looking at Hovis’ address on the card. “Won’t you be wanting a better-quality helmet as well? Maybe a new pair of gloves too? I notice Sir’s are rather worn.” Hovis stopped abruptly and turning around, started to make his way back towards Dave at the sales counter.
“You might like to try on a pair of these as well,” Dave offered, holding up a pair of this years, new wrap around cycle sunglasses. “I know that it sometimes gets a little ‘glarey’ up there and you wouldn’t want to go over the edge, would you?” He asked, while trying to tempt another sale out of his victim.
“Okay,” Hovis mumbled barely audibly. “How much for the better hat, gloves and the shades?”
Dave twiddled his pen in between his fingers and made it appear that he was totting figure’s up, “£123 exactly,” he replied with a half-smile. “Plus, I’ll throw in a couple of reflectors, for free,” he added as a further tempter.
There it was again, that magic and very personal number. Was it fate, or simply pure chance? It was obvious that the figure was just randomly made up, so just how and for what reason did Dave choose 1,2 and 3?
“You’re a silver tongued divil, Dave,” Hovis commented with a wry grin, while counting out the required sum. “Have them all delivered, to my address please. A.S.A.P,” he added sternly and walked out of the shop, feeling quite pleased with himself.
About the Author
I began writing these existential stories because they needed air and because I was sick to death of people being lauded for writing trivial rubbish. It’s easy to write nice, acceptable TV bookclub bodice rippers, a lot harder to tell the truth.
My stories scrape the scrotum of life’s existence and laugh at despair. There is no room in my books for any Goo Goo Muck, just straight up Rock n Roll.
So read at your peril…
- $25 Amazon
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