The one nice thing about being back in the U fucking K is that sunshine is rarely an issue. And since this is Scotland, Mecca to every golfing tourist with more money than taste, exceedingly large souvenir umbrellas are widely available. Handy, that, because Spike's packing had consisted of a wad of cash in one pocket and a fake ID in the other ( Read more... )

( In which Spike leaves Emma a present. )

Spike's talked to Andrew loads of times, but he can't remember ever thinking about talking to Andrew before. But tonight he's clocked seven actual minutes trying to find a better opening line than "we have to talk," and still come up with bugger all. He's brought a bottle of Scotch, as much for himself as to get the boy talking -- a few days ago he ( Read more... )

Spike walks down the street, scowling. He remembers when the Meatpacking District was full of bloody meat -- literally, the blood stink leaping strong and alive from every crack no matter how they hosed down the gutters. These days it was all galleries and pretentious restaurants still spilling their last tipsy patrons onto the clean sidewalks, and ( Read more... )