Mark Wagstaff, writer and author

After Work - read more


One bright day a bomb went off. A small strip of incendiary gel made dust a coffee concession at one of the mainline stations. Took out three staff, their manager; six people in line for take-out latte, skinny, perhaps soya; four more downwind of the blast, skinny, perhaps not; a policeman, just back off sick leave; and two teenage girls bunking school. A small fire started, damage localised by an efficient sprinkler system. Forty-five people were injured – broken limbs, blinded by flying debris – and – in a grisly footnote to the newsflash – several were burned by molten chocolate hurled through the air by the blast.