Tomorrow in Chideock.

I cut the hair at the nape of her neck. “There’ll probably be a bouncy castle, too,” she says. “At the church?” “No,” she says, suddenly serious. “Afterward, at the wake. But, yes, the way things are going, it won’t be long before the vicar is on the castle herself. Up and down, up and … Continue reading Tomorrow in Chideock.

The Satellites & The Major Planets.

Ffooks mums got one fucking bosom! This assertive oddity, surly odd ditty, this ode to an odd titty, with its grammatical shortcomings, is rendered in white chalk on the door of the third cubicle in the boys’ lavatory. It appeared among the bristling graffiti galaxy the first week of January and will serve as good … Continue reading The Satellites & The Major Planets.

Noah’s Wife.

Tammy is rattling. I’m not far behind her. She tells me again her feet are wet. I hear the grizzle rising in her voice as we come down on Derby Road in the morning rain. Wax Noyle and his rawboned daughter or his lover or whoever she is, shelter in a shop doorway. He wears … Continue reading Noah’s Wife.

Dogweed Insecurity.

One afternoon, a kettle faced woman and a big red man came in The Eight Kings. Big red went to the bar and kettle face came to the window and sat down on one of the stools facing the sea. He brought their drinks. She had a small white and he had a Bloody Mary … Continue reading Dogweed Insecurity.