Dancer is strutting down Main Street, he’s thinking Ramones but his body language is shouting Tony Manero, Bee-Gees, Staying Alive, the mirrored aviators and wavy shoulder length black hair making him look like a ‘70’s throwback.

He’s in a groove, on top of a mountain, he’s a tiger, tooth and claw, he’s fucking King Kong, man, don’t cross him.

Excerpt from Hit Parade, previously published in Bullet Magazine.

Mike Coombes writes short fiction with a sharp edge.


Sometimes dancing on the edge of an abyss, sometimes taking flight like a latter-day lcarus, flirting with disaster, his stories are occasionally disturbing, sometimes bizarre, always honest.