Flash Fiction

Peter is a dandy. That is the myth he likes peddle. He strolls around Oxford in his rust coloured cape. His dog, Whisper, follows at his heels, waiting patiently whenever required.

Every year, as winter’s imposing clouds clear to make way for spring, the music of the great romantic’s echoes around the dreaming spires. Peter is in his own private heaven. It is his time to shine.

He takes his place outside the bookstore. He rattles his battered coffee cup. His hoping for some small contribution. If he gets enough, he will buy a bottle of the finest gin.