It started to rain, so I dripped into The Eight Kings. The usual. Liquid-lunchers, afternoon boozers, the work-shy. The knock-off merchants, the old, the two-for-one crowd with the pushy pushchair. I could hear Snoyle laughing it up with the bookie boys behind me. They were playing at playing a game of cards. Far too often one … Continue reading The Definitive Slide.
Warren appears at the door. He dips a hand into a pocket, palms the Queen, coat tails flapping; street life, movement, magic, within them, for a moment. Glides the tables. Rows of exclamation marks, nods at question asked. Disappears to the bar. When he returns, he shuffles a chair through his fingertips from a neighbouring … Continue reading Chuck Berry’s Briefcase.
She woke beneath a kitchen table. There was dust on the lino and snow on the rooftops. But now the snow had stopped falling. She was wearing someone else's jumper. Heavy, handwoven, Hebridian sky blue with daisy motif. She stared at the yellow woollen stamen, white perfect petals, the blue. She pretended it the morning … Continue reading And When I Sleep, Luella. [vi]
She retreated an inch within and the piss porcelain and wet paper towels and the shit littered tiles and her size seven boot, printing damp jam to the door of the lavatory where she found herself, all seemed suddenly quite salubrious. But she wouldn't take a piss in there. Breathed out, rubbed her arms, rubbed … Continue reading And When I Sleep, Luella. [v]
lunch boxes: Raymond: Un-iced fruitcake, (sweetened black) tea. Malcolm: Pork & Turkey sandwich, tea. Mike: Chicken wrap, fruit pot yoghurt (raspberry), tea. Nick: Scotch egg, camembert & blueberry sandwich, tea.
Each minute thumbed hours' rumour and into the numbered dark she tumbled. The tin boy rubbed his tin ribs until he tired of this, then he rose. He gave her the sleepy eyed fingers, as cast off, as discard, as hex. He wore penned pentagrams on his palm, shook his head on her and went. … Continue reading And When I Sleep, Luella. [iv]
He waited a while longer, but he saw no return. So, he went upstairs and laid in the bath and rolled another cigarette from an ashtray collection. The mirror steamed and rain drummed the thin glass in the skylight. When the water lost its heat, he climbed out, dried himself and dressed. In the old room … Continue reading The Shoes.