The old codger looked the tall man up and down. “Where ye from, stranger?”

“Liverpool.” It came out slowly, the tone even and deadly

The old man’s eyes grew large. “England, huh?”

“Yes.”

“I hear tell that every summer, the livers come down from the mountains, killin’ folk. Is that right?”

“Yes, but only if you don’t kill them first.”

May 5, 2024