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.

Ain’t No Shoeshine.

An unfamiliar face appears from below the counter. I ask for cable. No longer than ten. You mean lead? Lead. Cable. Whatever. He turns and surveys the wall of cables hanging from hooks. Eventually, he points at a coil, says, these are good. Then he says, these are good, too. He reaches, unhooks and holds … Continue reading Ain’t No Shoeshine.