The Colour of The Crabmeat.

Medication teeth, rotund in dungarees, grey dreads adorned with beads (and other Keith Richard knickknacks), Jessica shows a greeting hand. Bangles singing. In and out of the lobster and bronze crowd to The Standard. Dialects bubbling, a foam of voice. The gulls loom and retreat and shadow the pale sand, the bodies. Beyond this, the … Continue reading The Colour of The Crabmeat.

And When I Sleep, Luella. [viii]

When I Sleep (postcard 2/3) 2013

The blear of legs, Queen Street. She sat sucking can, taking hand down, some pocket job, jerk work, crumb of brown. Cigarette, coin, nothing for hours. Then nothing for hours but soup and shit sandwich. Violence, advice and compromise. She sat the step of the one-stop shop. Sometimes slept there. Squatted New Cross. One day … Continue reading And When I Sleep, Luella. [viii]

Unexpected Butterfly.

  Crazy Jeannie and Pleasant Terry finally got married again. Fair play to them. But, somewhere, somehow, along the way, in exchanging names twice, they confused each other’s nicknames, so that he, at last, found her, pleasant, and she, him, eventually, crazy. The actual details of how, or why, this confusion occurred are obscure. That’s … Continue reading Unexpected Butterfly.

And When I Sleep, Luella. [vii]

When I Sleep (postcard 2/3) 2013

Later, he gave her coins, coffee and direction off the yard. Unfamiliar city street. Spat on tarmac. Hounds' crap in mounds. Remnants of plastic bags pennant the choking trees. Hard lips and hard eyes and spray painted hatred. Thin drinkers and fat eaters. Detritus and, shoulder to shoulder, District and Circle, bowed, escalator eyes and … Continue reading And When I Sleep, Luella. [vii]

And When I Sleep, Luella. [vi]

When I Sleep (postcard 2/3) 2013

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]

And When I Sleep, Luella. [v]

When I Sleep (postcard 2/3) 2013

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]