By Jonny Glynn
Clever, wry, and heavily twisted, Peter Crumb is a guy who suffers personalities, just one of that is in a position to regret. His existence has been derailed by way of a unmarried, devastating act of violence, and now, in what he intends to be his final week on the earth, he's decided to go away his mark upon humanity—randomly, unjustly, with endless awareness to aspect. permitting the morning's newspaper headlines to loosely dictate his activities, Crumb units out on a weeklong descent into hell, decided to pull as many as attainable into the darkness besides him. Gritty, spectacular, and profoundly traumatic, Jonny Glynn's The Seven Days of Peter Crumb is a unprecedented debut that portrays the deterioration of a critically splintered soul.
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Additional info for The Seven Days of Peter Crumb: A Novel (P.S.)
She was a pretty all right, 48 not a stupid. I gave myself a good lather, washed my pits and shaved my face, cleaned my teeth and combed my hair. Gave myself a good polish. And I polish up well I should tell you. As a young man I was very handsome. I bet you didn’t expect that, did you? No, you probably think I’m a repugnant fiend with a hairy back, bulging warts and abnormally proportioned features and flat feet. Well, I’m not. Oh no – I’m handsome. Very handsome. A handsome youth, they used to say, when I was a boy.
Her figure was defined, thin and angular. Her limbs long. Over her right arm she carried a small fake Burberry handbag; and in her left hand she carried a half-eaten packet of Walkers crisps. As she grew closer her pace slowed to a cautious lope. She stopped. The Rastaman turned and looked at me. ‘Dis girl,’ he said, just in case I hadn’t realized. I got up and approached the goods for closer inspection. And oh my God, what a raddled old skank cracker she was. Not at all the back-lit beauty of the shadows that I had imagined her to be as she gambolled from the darkness towards me – oh no.
They’ll sling you out with the rubbish and burn you up at the dump. And all will be pleased, and glad to see the back of you. And that will be that. No-one will miss you. No-one will remember you. ’ I grabbed her by the throat and pinned her pathetic frame against the wall. ’ And with that I reached for her face and stuffed the tenner into her mouth and forced it as far down her throat as I could push it. I released my grip. She fell to her knees, coughing and choking, clawing at her throat, gagging and retching.