Coketown, by Barney Farmer (Wrecking Ball Press, 2019)

A man on a pub crawl; he might write a book, might not. Tremendous stream-of-consciousness/tone poem/scabrous pop culture reference-littered journey through a long dark night out on the piss of the soul. Splendidly observed/experienced; like a half-pissed James Joyce cadging a smoke outside a Preston Wetherspoons.

My own books here, if that’s your thing. Newest is noir thriller East of England.