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Hitchhiker’s Guide

Take a piece of root ginger, put it with the water in a pan and boil it, then you make your tea with the water. She’d made his thermos for him when he left home in the small hours. She always did that.

Underground Rider

A bottle, rolling drunk, missed its stop again. Terminates at Modern, says the Northern Line brightly to itself.

Blues and Stout

Big plywood quavers, a treble clef, a crescent – or actually a senescent moon – spraypainted silver and aged to a soft oxide grey. From the stage, scarcely a foot high, you could easily reach up and swing on a star.

Good Luck Child

You walked like a millionaire. There was no-one there like you, not there or anywhere else. I knew from the second I looked at you first and you smiled like the sun’s first child.

Open Up the Doors

Second bell from the top, she’d said. Up the scuffed shared stairs they shared were friends we hadn’t seen since the good times, and some we’d never seen before, and some we’d never see again, sat in their orbits on the floor, gravitating to the wine.

Drinking Water

Whichever way she chose, going left or right or keeping straight ahead, each turning took her to the same thought – of a warm breeze, of a buddy, of an arm going round a poplar’s shaking shoulder.

Thank You, Henry

The mouth filled with caterpillars momentarily shut and paused, spoke some smoke, then spat a few more wings into the heap of disjected moth components. Stunning itself by the pool, a retread bulged with atmospheric pleasure.


“How many times do you think I’ve been the fool? And I could do it all again” – pointing with his ear across the bar – “for her.” There was only the lace left at the end of his pint. “God knows, you can’t judge by what’s on the jukebox.”


We cycled a root-riddled track, spread ourselves out in the clearing, with bracken uncurling at the foot of a ruined oak. We’d lost all we had to lose, for the time being.

Before You Fall

He strapped himself in behind the Fender and turned the ignition, then looked down along the neck for a while, for a long while, where the chords had eroded the finish.

Howling Wolf

Great darkness lies under there all afternoon with one eye open, on a bed of dead needles and under the cover of the living, more like stone than flesh.

Out Into the Light

Then a human was an object of mockery, and it became a crime to remain silent in their presence and not emit the jabberings of submission.

Grey Cat and the Blackbird

In petallic bloomlight, among thorny nightshade, Daisy and Violet and Iris await the outcome.


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