Martin John

Начало книги

Rain will fall.

Check my card.

I never tasted bread like the bread in Beirut.

I don’t read the fucken Daily Telegraph.

Martin John has not been to Beirut.

He has only been to London and to visit his Aunty Noanie.

The dentist’s waiting room shaped Martin John’s life. A simple room, nothing to suggest it contained the almighty power it did.

It could have been any 5 or 15 minutes in any youth’s lifetime.

He remembered the strange fluorescent light, the organized nature of the room and how odd (it was) for a country dental practice to be so well planned inside a house: treatment room + waiting room. The physical space, so carefully executed, had made him comfortable and sleepy.

Surely to God they’d come. They’d come for him.

She continued to give him the line.

In the hope he might take it.

That he had gone to help that girl.

There were rumours.

Other rumours.

Other girls.

Other moments.

Same boy.

Martin John is living in England now.

Читать дальше →