Hartlepool United
An afternoon in with Jeff
A man sits at a desk. Dominating that desk, paper. Surrounding his feet, scrunched up paper. He clutches the hair behind each temple and slowly twists it to form a tricorne. If he smoked, he’d be doing so in a furiously repetitive manner. If he drank, he would be necking back whisky. Whisky and coffee. Whisky, coffee, cigarettes and writer’s block.
Time passes and the twelfth hour strikes. Inspiration came …