31
31 It was almost eight-thirty and now Wilton stood beneath an impenetrable cloak of darkness save for the sultry glow of the street lamps along the main street. Not a house nor a shop had its lights on, and there was not a sound in the village aside from the occasional gust of cool air. A Kenworth truck snaked its way along Giles street, slowing and then sliding neatly up alongside the footpath of the Wilton Anzac Memorial Park. Across the road from the park was Mac's Fish and Chip shop, its windows opaque and empty. The truckie wondered if there had been a power outage. The heat was often to blame for them in the summer though he wasn't exactly sure how. It was either heat lightning or something to do with the wires gaining too much humidity. In small towns, it happened a lot and so he w
- Writer
