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.
Stories
Lucy’s days
The noodles would slip down and fill his stomach, taking away the humiliation he felt at being in debt to his own daughter.
It comes to some of us in the End
Tom ‘Bopper’ Keys was returned unto the earthly Earth. That much was certain.
Sydney by cab
I’ve heard of thousand dollar bottles, dug from Napoleonic cellars over which a shopping mall was soon to rise.
A patient shark
Maybe I am an escapologist and this is a show? Seems unlikely.
Barleycorn Buildings
The start of the novel that ever had the chance to end.
Love
Their laughter isn’t loud. It is a lovely, moving event. They are gone quickly.
Janssen Stand Down!
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.
It is what it is
It is not a stroke of luck to be born where you were born. Everybody knows that. Think about it.
Fat Man
Then he stripped to red-ochre painted nakedness and drank a bottle of gin to wash down a rattle of amphetamines.
Kerrigan’s Streak
Imagine winning the lottery. Then imagine winning it more than once. Meet Nancy Kerrigan.
The outer space restaurant review
“Bawbags”, she whispered. “Now what?”
He thought he was a Christ
A man, his cat, a burglary.
The dreadful Msr Loussiere
1919 was the year that changed it all.
To you all. You know who you are!
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.
The Flying People
There is no peace for them, so there must be no peace for anybody. That’s their reasoning.
A Rank Sandwich in Bolton – Part 1: before the Murder
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.
Haring down the hill
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.
Dapper Dale
Kathleen and me had been up late talking. She talked about babies and I talked, through a bit of beer, about getting away, going abroad before babies. Getting away.