Walking up Kingsland High Road, Egon savoured the invigorating effects of his flat white. Hackney used to be one of London’s poorest areas, filled with immigrants and dwellings in need of repair. Now, looking at house and rent prices, this was hard to believe. Mingling with the multi-cultural crowd, Egon felt like a man of the world, glad to have moved away from his village in Shropshire where monoculture and monothinking had taken over even the more advanced human beings. Continue reading →
‘The past lies like a nightmare upon the present.’ (Karl Marx)
Still befuddled, Egon entered his studio flat, which really was the real-estate agency’s term for bedsit, on Graham Road. There always lingered a slight morbid and musty smell in these Victorian houses and Egon resented the fact that he kept looking at the same four walls.
Lying on his bed, he felt as if the walls were closing him on him, or maybe he’d just been here for too long, but as he didn’t pay rent he wasn’t complaining. After splitting up with his ex, he felt lucky not having to move back into a flat-share, which he thought was undignified at the age of 35, but unavoidable in London where being able to live on your own was considered a luxury. Continue reading →
Keeping an eye on Costa Coffee, Egon quickly took out his iPhone5, which he had found in a bar one night and managed to unlock. The light wasn’t great for photography but he didn’t intent to post the crime-scene pictures on Instagram anyway.
Poor dog, what an end to a life filled with adversity and struggle. He made a pledge there and then to find out who killed him, because in his mind there was no question that this had been a dogcide. A suspicion which was confirmed when he saw what looked like a stabbing wound on the dog’s right rib cage, very close to what must have been the heart, he figured.
The stern police-woman’s superior was leaving Costa, heading for them and Egon decided it was high time to disappear in the crowd. Continue reading →