The wind picked up & the air became wet & in-between trying to light the cigarette, the boy, turning this way & that, trying to catch the flame, started on some convoluted tale about how he had lost his girlfriend, got thrown out of his flat, & about how someone had stolen his hair clippers. … Continue reading Liam & Stan & Oliver.
I went to the bathroom and fished a couple of cans from the bath. When I came back Dizzy was chatting to a woman who also had an eye patch. I gave him a beer and went outside. Little Annie was on the patio with a blond boy in a tee shirt that read Bob … Continue reading Leaving The Pirate Party.
"Aye, coffin nails," she says regarding the spread of used cigarettes collected on the table before her. Her dreadlocks are corralled on top of her small head with a knotted tie-dye rag. She wears a lot of tie-dye. She laughs and the tips of hair prance on her shoulders like waxen ponies. She drums her … Continue reading Blanket For A Bairn.
Some years later. He pulls the peacoat collar up over his ears and, head down, takes heel to the bottom of the street. Folk still whisper as he passes, but less so these days. They grow old, they float away, they die. He lives with the memories of that night; the sky more white star … Continue reading The Lookout.
There was an imaginable enough group gathered that evening - certainly Wax Noyle was there. Steve Arse (Ears to his face. Arse behind his back), Punk Wayne, Magic Sam and Little Annie. They were seated at a trio of tables in the front window of The Eight Kings. This would have been sometime prior to … Continue reading Sweat Lodge Construction.
They sat around in the low light and the blue smoke of the room and after a while he picked up a guitar and started to strum some rudimentary chords, plucking triads and tripping harmonics and, believing he was, of a sudden, some rough blues man, he began to throw in some hems, some hums, … Continue reading Some hems, some hums, some uh-huhs.