October 31st 2019. Claya R. is at the foot of the ladder. I am some rungs up, but not too many. There's a long way to go yet before I reach the window. The window is ajar. "If you just get in and then open the front door, let me in," she says. November … Continue reading dream diaries…73
Dylan Thomas, in First Class, dispatching Rainbow Trout (tatties, peas and half a stout). There's scurf on the shoulders of his tweed ('Howell's of St. Mary St., Cardiff'). Mistook him for a Beatle. "Ringo's in the dining car!" "A cwtsh for a poxy autograph?" (Who's he think he is! Richard Burton?) … Continue reading rumbling over the severn, my belly thinking my throat’s been cut.
Of clearing her father’s house in Enfield, she would only stand to say, “Have you ever tried to sell a baby grand? Or even given one away?” After forever it was all that was left. Guess this world has little need for a baby grand beneath a paper lampshade, on the quiet parquet. … Continue reading Prompts for future conversation.
