The first story in a trilogy, in which London's homeless flee the streets to live underneath the earth in their new home which they call Underworld. Sarah, one of the escapees, gets caught in the strange and secret place and in the darkness Stick is waiting to kill her.
I live in Somerset with my wife Marti and Mitzi, a Welsh collie. Obviously they control everything and I am a mere hanger-on. Older than I look, I remember smoking on the shore as the Ark was being launched and thinking to myself, 'That folly will never float.' And, 'I ought to give these things up.' I have been described as 'an original thinker, with a battered energy and a dark but hopeful sense of humour'. Which is better than I could have come up with. That's pretty much it. I am always happy to chat and can be contacted at pbeere@sky.com. Buy my books, tell others, and we'll be friends for ever more.
Clumsy and oddly condescending to the intended audience. At one point a runaway teen is fleeing from a murderer in a subway tunnel and out of nowhere a narrator pops up and gives us this nauseating monologue:
“Maybe if she had pursued this line of thought a little she would’ve come to the realization that she wasn’t yet ready to be living on her own. There’s a lot of difference between growing up and thinking about growing up. Growing up was something you learned while you were actually doing it.”