she hands me a book and i say, i will return this someday (it's a line that people often phrase). i know that i won't, but i will lift her from the margin and the page and return the gift in different ways. i barely recall the tale's name but her hand, her footnotes, her annotation … Continue reading note to self.
He left the house one evening and walked the coast road toward Weston. Occasionally he would hear a vehicle in the distance and as the sound grew closer he would stand at the roadside, raking his hair, straightening his coat, waiting its appearance. And as it drew near, he'd snap out a thumb and with … Continue reading Funky Town.
Behind his shades, beneath the sliding cloud, he turned onto Baruther Strasse. He walked through the cemetery with its spray paint brickwork and its green wreathed stones and its cold clean stones and testaments. He walked, revenant, among the dead, over the rising shadows of the pigeons and the yew tree, remembering - suddenly and all … Continue reading Baruther Strasse Cemetery.
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