John Crace sweats the new novel by Edinburgh's enfant terrible down to a buff 700 words
So cry-baby Miles was moaning about his back and refusing to fuck me, so I split. I was driving back to my apartment in Miami Beach when this dude runs straight out in front of me. I mean, WADDAFUCK? I get out the car and start shouting at him and then another asshole appears with a gun. No one messes with this be-yatch, right, so I kick him in the balls, break his arms and wait for the cops to arrive.
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