Had he never misplaced the mojo, he may, he reasoned one evening, have been able to keep a keener eye on his star. But, he sensed, it had fallen. He came to this late. Drew scant detail. Reason, as such, eluded. He dreamed a nearfuture pocket of his being patted. Mojo? He looked up in … Continue reading Dim Star, Mojito & Mojo Rising.
Dead Fox In Mid Seventies.
St. Bartholomew's Day 2018. Dear _______, Hello! I hope that this finds you well. I enclose a mixtape & some accompanying words to read... Pinky & Perky. I was, one morning recently, walking from the new exit/entrance for East Croydon toward the WC (that is to say, Whitgift Centre, though, these days the abbreviation seems … Continue reading Dead Fox In Mid Seventies.