THERE ONCE WAS A MAN EXCERPTS (PRE-EDIT):

He Lived a Life

“He was stick thin, short and stooped, with sloping shoulders, a
sunken chest, and a high-speed squint as if a sirocco had swept

a cloud of Saharan sand into his eyes.”

There Once Was a Man

“Marcus went barefoot into the kitchen and opened the freezer
compartment of the fridge. He pulled out a half-eaten bag of
frozen chips secured by a cable tie. He cut the fastener with

a kitchen knife and retrieved the unopened pack of unsmoked
streaky bacon hidden inside. He grunted with satisfaction; a
happy smile lighting up his face.”

THERE ONCE WAS A MAN EXCERPTS (Continued):

Patriot Games

“On the Friday morning that followed a Thursday night of rioting in a small enclave of South
London, Samson Munyama walked through empty streets with a heavy heart, amidst the

debris and detritus of disorder. The acrid smell of charred wood lingered in the air. The

tensions that led to pitched battles between warring factions hung heavy in the
atmosphere, forcing frightened locals to cower in their homes, fearful of a return of the
troublemakers.”

The Sonless Father

“When Emmanuel went downstairs, he gently pushed open the door to the living room and

saw his father lying in the foetal position on the filthy, fraying carpet. The old man had
stopped moaning, but his rheumy eyes were sparkling with rage. One of his hands held the
front of his trousers together, while the other propped up the chamber pot that was tilted

at an angle, teetering on the edge of spilling over.”

THERE ONCE WAS A MAN EXCERPTS (Continued):

The Watcher

“He witnessed teenage thieves, thugs in their thirties, drug dealing dads, and juvenile
junkies lay siege to a street of citizens struggling to survive and keep body and soul
together. Through half-closed curtains, he saw babies crying long into the night, probably
having soiled their nappies, while their stressed out, sex-starved single mothers screamed

in ecstasy in snatched seconds with one-night stands.”

Eulogy

“The thickset man in the made-to-measure suit, with dyed and powdered hair parted at the
side, and an ashy, gunmetal grey pallor to his skin, was my father.

Handsomeness had left his face decades earlier, replaced by a scowl that pretended to be a
smile; but it didn’t fool anybody. That rictus grin was now permanent, courtesy of an
embalmer’s expertise. It gave my dad the expression of a man whose tongue had lost the

sweet taste of joy and was forever sampling the biting flavour of bitterness.”