'I killed a man. Yes I did. Can't have happened more than an hour ago. He's just lying beside my chair. If I lean forward, peer over the arm, I can see his head; his head and a hand. His hair shines a bit in the light of the lamp. It's dark; dark cause it's wet; wet with his blood.'In this collection of short stories, the readeris taken back to ninetheeth century London for a tale of poisonous love, into otherpeople's garages for a tale of revenge and into a care home where there is more thanShepherd's Pie on the menu.There is the existential and the vengeful, the indolent and the elderly and the eternal war against intolerance.And cowboys - there should always becowboys.