Inside

It was a dark and stormy night. Suddenly a shot rang out.

"I didn't want to kill him" he thought. How many times was it he'd thought that now. He thought back to all of times, all of the earlier times. It was so much easier then, back in the days of fanzines. That's how it had started you know. So much easier then. You just sent a letter from a fake address to John Eden or Paul Meme, you convinced them they had found a brother in arms, someone who too loved Current 93 AND dub reggae. Then came the excuses not to meet, the fake sister's death and the sorry I forgots, I was moving squats. Then you sent another letter, to one of the peripheral ones. You made friends with them, agreed for them to come to an address. A place you'd squatted no-one else knew about.

Then the shot would ring out, hidden by the booming bass.

It was so easy then.

Damn the internet. Damn this surveillance society for making food hard to come by.