The Definitive Slide.

It started to rain, so I dripped into The Eight Kings. The usual liquid-lunchers, afternoon boozers, the work-shy, the free. The knock-off merchants, too, and the old. The two-for-one crowd with the pushy pushchair. I could hear Snoyle laughing it up with the bookie boys behind me. They were playing a game of cards. Far too … Continue reading The Definitive Slide.

soubriquet.

bad lieutenant had the greasy palm, sought soft fruit solace in an odd shaped bar. supped black sambuca - contracted boozers' arm. couldn't find way out of carrier bag.   caught a tap on the chin from the bristol crow. grew to dislike soubriquet bestowed. reversed tartan, tripled vodka intake flow. couldn't find way out … Continue reading soubriquet.

Moon, mentioned.

Rib Nite 2 Pig Bill, usually a bear hug guy, comes over, shakes hand, shakes head. No bear hug, Pig Bill? The air fills with talcum. It follows him everywhere. He reckons it adds mystique to the place. Nothing doing, he says. What's this? Tickets for tomorrow's gig, he says. It's a no-goer. And, again, … Continue reading Moon, mentioned.

Chuck Berry’s Briefcase.

Warren appears at the door. He dips a hand into a pocket, palms the Queen, coat tails flapping; street life, movement, magic, within them. He glides the tables. Rows of exclamation marks, nods at question. Disappears to the bar. When he returns, he shuffles a chair through his fingertips from a neighbouring table. He allows … Continue reading Chuck Berry’s Briefcase.