I’ve decided to write a book myself, called The Thing Man. Obviously, it will be set in Bulgaria but maybe some of the characters will get to travel, who knows? It’ll start off like this:
Zdravko Nestorov frowned at the garage television his father had sitting on the shelf. It had some thing on about whales. He leant back on the work bench, with a vice situated between himself and his sixty four year old father. Together they stared at the Toyota HiAce.
“What kind of clueless gunk walks out of jail in full view of the guards, steps into a waiting car and disappears forever?” he quizzed in a soft growl.
Vasil didn’t answer.
“Without a shot being fired?”
“I did some work at Pazardjik once,” Vasil recalled.
“Oh yeah? They got me with Rusim. No one’s seen that guy in years.”
Vasil took a swig on his beer. “How are you doing with your drinking these days?”
“Good,” said Zdravko.
“That’s one thing about prisons…” A call came from Elka on the upstairs balcony. Dinner was ready. Vasil finished his beer and shut up the garage.
“What about prisons?” Zdravko wanted to know.
“Steel. A lot of steel.”
Zdravko and his father walked round the apartment block and up to the flat.
In the kitchen, Elka came over from the table and kissed her son.
“How’s your work?” she asked in a sing-song voice.
“Good.”
“How’s your father?” They walked back to the table and the steamy smell of garlic and herbs. Vasil took his chair by the window.
“You mean this one?”
Elka stopped. Together they looked at Vasil. “Cabbage with pork,” she smiled. The news was on.
