As Sowerbutt walked slowly
back towards the pub's main entrance, the bar was silent, all eyes
watching him. “Fascist filth,” a tall,
skinny man sneered as he passed by. Sowerbutt did not turn his head, his
powerful right fist shooting out and connecting to the skinny man’s chin with a
crack. Wide-eyed, the man sailed backwards, crashing against the counter. His
mates scurried out of the way.
No comments:
Post a Comment