Christmas Fiction: There’s Always Something by Gary McMahon

Max fucking hated Christmas.

He stood at the window, looking out at the night as it began to snow. His neighbours had gone to town with their decorations this year: several cheap plastic Santas, a scattering of gaudy neon angels, festive greetings spelled out in lights across the roofs. It was horrible. He hated it. Why the hell did they all think it was necessary to celebrate such an ugly time of year?

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