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Sunday Story ~ Fate Dictates

  Something needed finishing. A loophole needed closing. It was eons in the making already. Long overdue. Sure there’s a master plan, a matrix with all the details sorted tidily, but just as surely there are variables, there are rips in the fabric, tears made from tears. Human suffering pai
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Lucky Lucy

I gave him my address which was #7 Gay Street and despite no one believing this street exists it is not an invention, it connects West 4th Street with Christopher Street in a portion of Manhattan that is off the grid in so many directions. He could’ve waited for me to trot downstairs but instead for some
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A Good Guy

Yes, he saw her when he entered the bar but at thirty-nine he was stealth. He was with his crew. Mates from childhood. All American as they say. He wanted her, instantly. She was there for business and sat alone on a bench near the window, listening to the band and considering if she even liked their music. For
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King Rat

Another man dies, out of turn. How many times did he invite me to join him at the bar so he could tell me stories. And I always said I would and of course I never went. There was a pathos to him, like an immutable sadness, and it was too febrile for me. I justified this because I was sure I could guess the storie
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Upstairs Downstairs

1984 and I was residing in London and reading obsessively in my spare time while working as a researcher. Workday mornings I took the train to Oxford where I had full access to Blenheim Palace, from the employees to Capability Brown’s gardens and the palace attics filled with trunks of documents and ne
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Wasted Youth

‘Because you’re older than me you think I know nothing?’ ‘Probably.’ ‘You ever see a movie called To Kill A Mockingbird?’ ‘It was a book. Did you know that?’ ‘No. I saw the movie. Cary Grant right?’ ‘Sure.’