It was the day the new Brandon Hayes novel came out. I bought it in hardback, though I really couldn’t afford to. But it was the new Brandon Hayes!
I had read everything. I really related to his stuff, really got it. Yeah, yeah, sounds dumb, however they spoke to me. Personally.
Seeing as how I had almost blown my food allowance for the rest of the month, I decided to go crazy and grab a beer in a city centre pub.
I was slowly sipping Guinness while starting chapter two when I became aware of a man standing next to my table. A man who looked surprising like the dust jacket photo of Brandon Hayes.
‘You little shit,’ he growled. ‘It drives me bloody mad when you people do this.’
‘What?’
‘Sitting reading my book where I was bound to spot you.’
‘What? No!’
‘God it makes me puke. What did you expect? Me to sign it? Tell you about my inspirations? Did you think you would spend an evening with Brandon Hayes?’
‘Excuse me,’ I muttered. I left the pub, along the novel, my unfinished pint and a writer I suddenly didn’t want to read any more.