After some time, a bearded, balding, overalled, paint spattered, coot man - stepladder and duffel bag in hand - came into the low level buzz of the waiting room. He clumsied himself and his chattel through the door, allowing a brief rush of oily, night cold air to enter, too. The gust, flustering the newspaper … Continue reading The Waiting Room.
Judith Butters was on her way to scatter her father's ashes over Bristol. It was her belief that he would be happy with this decision. Knott. "I imagine it's pretty quiet up there." "I've never been." "Me neither. But this is what I imagine." The road to Benchcombe was browed first with boxy hedges, then … Continue reading A Million Motes.
Deep in his cups, at the bar, eating peanuts from his fist, as if throwing dice, Garrett. Alexis took the stool beside him, saying, "There's more piss on a pub peanut than there's salt." He swilled the cider cloud, swallowed the dregs, wiped his mouth, replied, "I heard that." He rhymed the word heard with … Continue reading The Carolina Shag.
He made his way the length of Sumner Road. Cigarette to his bottom lip, constant, pushing an open, dull-metal cart pendanted with scrap trophies; a hubcap, a strappy shoe, a tiny transistor radio. Holstered at its side was a wide shovel, a mean looking yard broom, an oversized pan, a wire brush. From the front … Continue reading The Windmill Arms.
They sat on the doorstep at the back of the flats every evening filling the jam jar ashtray and trading hushed nothings. Autumn, she sat with her knees drawn and clasped. She stretched her legs long before her, silk pouring from them, on June evenings such as this one. They had been joined by another … Continue reading Starlight Conversation.
The women were the last to leave. Monica, Luella, Jodie, Siobhan. Lottie and Tin Ribs. They left the simple room in ones and twos, led by the redhead with wet, brown eyes and lace up shoes. She held her tiny chin an inch inclined. She appeared to him no older than when they had last … Continue reading Cold Hands.