He left the house one evening and walked the coast road toward Weston. Occasionally he would hear a vehicle in the distance and as the sound grew closer he would stand at the roadside, raking his hair, straightening his coat, waiting its appearance. And as it drew near, he'd snap out a thumb and with … Continue reading Funky Town.
Voided, the ruptured milk lorry stopped feeding Steep Street and soon enough the white river knuckles became trickles puddling in gutters. The milk dribbled into drains, dribbled, dripped and disappeared. And, before their very eyes, the tarmac blackened again in the afternoon sun. Mrs. Ffooks sits on the pavement in skeins of creamed polyester, white … Continue reading Voided.
