Savage

By Max Frick

Gus Savage, it has to be said, loved an office party. He loved any kind of party, come to that. But office parties in particular tended to bring out the beast in him. Savage by name, savage by nature was his war cry on nights like these. It was sheer devilment on his part, a gut reaction to the spiritlessness of his colleagues. I mean, he only had to look at them most days to feel an overwhelming urge to live large.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Max Frick
• Release date: May 10, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463071243

Max Frick

Max Frick was born in Scotland where he spent more than half of his life thus far in a new town not dissimilar to the one depicted in his novel Debaser. At the age of twenty-five, seeking something a little more fulfilling than the drudgery and routine that his hometown had to offer, he upped sticks and moved to Prague in the Czech Republic, where he imagined artists and bohemians drank freely and deeply from the cup of life. There he would write! There he would shine! There he would make his name! There, alas, he lives to this day in a life of drudgery and routine not dissimilar to the one depicted at the beginning of this bio.

Book preview

SAVAGE

By Max Frick

Smashwords Edition

Augustus 'Gus' Savage jnr. abruptly awoke one morning from a fitful alcoholic slumber to find himself lying - still in his clothes - on the floor of a strange room.

Startled, he sat bolt upright.

Where the fuck am I? he thought to himself. And how the fuck did I get here?

His throat was parched and his head ached as he tried to make sense of his surroundings. The only light in the room came from two fluorescent strip lights on an otherwise bare ceiling. The walls were also bare and there were no windows or vents of any kind. There was a standard office desk in one corner - the only piece of furniture in the room - and beside it a door, which was closed.

What is this place? he wondered, his discombobulation beginning to subside. Did I somehow let myself in here after the party last night?

He patted his pockets to make sure he had all his belongings still on him - wallet, phone, keys; everything seemed to be in order.

Getting to his feet, with no small effort, he dusted himself down, smoothing out the creases in his clothes, and adjusted the knot in his scarf. He took out his phone to find out what time it was but, stubbornly, it refused to turn on.

Fucking weak battery, he grumbled, admiring opportunely his reflection in the glass as he ran his fingers, proudly, through his hair.

Surveying his surroundings one last time, he made his way to the door, but he could not, for the life of him, remember coming in here. The latter half of the party, come to that, was all a bit of a blur.

Oh, no doubt they'll clue me in whenever I go back to the office,