Mountain pressure
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Ups and downs and winter birds singing around them. The pine trees’ scent, the wind in the needles above and around them.
Ups and downs and winter birds singing around them. The pine trees’ scent, the wind in the needles above and around them.
Tom ‘Bopper’ Keys was returned unto the earthly Earth. That much was certain.
The start of the novel that ever had the chance to end.
Imagine a place full of people making laws who have no idea what it’s like to be hungry or cold? That would be stupid.
Then he stripped to red-ochre painted nakedness and drank a bottle of gin to wash down a rattle of amphetamines.
“Bawbags”, she whispered. “Now what?”
A man, his cat, a burglary.
1919 was the year that changed it all.
The thing with Curran was that he was forever leaving notes about the place. The beginnings of poems and stories, rehearsals for suicide notes. Oftentimes you simply couldn’t tell exactly what he meant.
You would never have believed that she’d been one of the first female pilots in the RAF back in the day, but she fell out with the military.
He sat in the churchyard, feeling the fag packet in his pocket. He didn’t want to go home where all his relatives would have arrived in black, coughing into sandwiches and mini sausage rolls. They’d try tell him stories about his dad, pretending they knew his dad better than they did.