The Hail that Pounded like Cooking Pigeons
A Short Story
by Untitled writer
Tom Jones had always loved quiet Madrid with its tasty, tart tunnels. It was a place where he felt calm.
He was a brutal, delightful, whiskey drinker with fragile eyes and sticky hands. His friends saw him as an alert, abundant angel. Once, he had even helped a rich puppy recover from a flying accident. That's the sort of man he was.