I saw his name in the paper. Micheal Pilkington. Below it in brackets Tiny.
Tiny Tiny Tiny. It mentioned my local, The Brew Inn, is that where I knew him from. I just couldn’t put a face to the name. Tiny -Micheal Pilkington -Micheal Pilkington - Tiny I tossed the names around my head on the way for my Friday night drink. I didn’t have to ask, before I’d even sat down with my first pint Jim asked if I knew about Tiny.
‘I can’t place him, who’d he used to drink with?’
It turned out, I did know Tiny albeit not very well. He was a few years older than us and apart from the odd game of pool I’d never spoken to him, apart from the usual courtesies. I could put a face to the name though.
Jim told me the tale. A few weeks ago Tiny received a tax rebate of £2000.
‘So what you gonna do with it then Tiny?’
‘I’m off on ‘oliday?’
‘Very nice, somewhere exoctic?’
‘Kind of….KissKiss….. for a whole week.’
‘KissKiss the massage parlour on Denbury Road?’
‘That’s right. Open 24 hours a day, seven days a week.’
‘Right…ah well, suppose Spain hasn’t warmed up yet.’
KissKiss on Denbury Road, not really a massage parlour more of a brothel.
This stories not about the morals or the rights and wrongs of prostitution. It’s about Tiny. And apparently he did spend a week there, playing pool naked, sleeping with a different woman every night. He left on the Sunday evening and called in for a few pints at the Brew Inn telling anyone who’d listen about his escapades.
He was found dead in bed on the Monday morning, died in his sleep, a heart attack.
The newspaper said
Regular at the Brew Inn and KissKiss Massage Parlour.
Miss you already
The girls at KissKiss.