She’s an old soul who was scattered to the winds like a thousand butterflies and a moth She has no center and flits from event to event and can’t miss out on a thing, because crikey, what if she missed something important? And the m

Okay, let’s go swing by The Strip. Appositely labelled. A little cutting of concrete Britain, torn off and transplanted here in the Greece of antiquity. Strip teasing. Divesting the flush Northern Europeans of their pleasure tokens, in return for token

The first engine arrived and a fireman heavy with gear stumbled from the side railing.

“I don’t see how anybody could do it.” “I could do it. I could do it because it ought to be done. When a thing needs doing, it’s best to go on and do it.”

pens loaded with ink/exceeding or equal to/my volume of blood.

When Bill was in the hospital, one month bleeding into the next, his mother visited exactly twice, both times complaining of the things she needed or couldn’t get rid of: mop heads, bleach, dustpans, detergents, grease, turgid water in the basement. And

If I was a bum I’d risk everything For a drink or a smoke. I would beg and curse and steal If I was a bum. If I was a bum I would cuss out the Pope. I would not vote for anyone Because I would know truly They’d be telling gross lies.

Although still uncertain of whether she was a she fish or a he fish (she definitely hated being an it fish), the fish liked what she saw of Nags Head. Finally, a world that gave her a choice. And felt no need to verify whether she was a real she fish, or just a he fish…

Bitch My brother is the only person who dared to slaughter a bitch and its five puppies. It is sickening to write this story. Sickening to read it. This happened on Sunday night when the muezzin called for the prayer. The puppies were…

She is alone in the ocean

Bleeding quietly

Either it was rescue--if the customer was alive to be found--or recovery, the term for bringing out the dead.

Writing opens doors to perception. For example, the glockenspiel smells of gardenias, but the catwalk is opening a can of Franklin stove. It emits fumes of fairyland and olive. And in the green and pleasant country of Scotland and England, vintage trains go…

Christmas night was closing in at the Cantrips alehouse in Aberdeen, a firm favourite for riggers and other men and women who lived life close to the horizon. Sometimes, on a Saturday night, things might get a bit rowdy but Mother O'Grady would stand firm and bring out…

No one told a story.