[Rib Nite 3] Ever woke up from a big old sleep and wondered, wondered why your ribs are a-blowing in the breeze? Ever woke up on a vee dubya backseat? On a backseat with a head like a plug of Camembert cheese? Well, forgive me, please, but you ain't ever woke up. * He wondered … Continue reading Cup & Saucer.
8 [photocopy of a snapshot] I cut Lillian's hair every twelfth week, dry it every sixth. It grows. I cut it. I dry it. It has become grey by increments; city pigeon to autumn noon, fading print to cigarette ash. Each accretion of tone slowly highlighting further her pink brittle cheeks, the pools … Continue reading Mirror (8): Pale Airman.
It is a large, damp, sea-facing attic with a box bedroom, box bathroom, box kitchen. The walls bow beneath my palm. I best not get drunk. I move in and I make a pyramid of my belongings: how did they do that? On a shelf above the bath I find a paperback of Graham Greene's … Continue reading The Quite American.
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