Category Archives: The Stories.

203. Missing Inaction

I’m watching him. He glides past, face forward. He clutches a coffee can, a chipped cup, a half empty pint of milk that looks like it’s well on the turn. He stumbles a little, recovers, glides on. Face forward. His … Continue reading

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202. Bad Friday

The only sounds are a clock ticking and the muffled clattering of crockery from the kitchen, two rooms away. A wall mounted gas fire – faux wood panelled – protrudes strangely from the wall. lined up in a neat row … Continue reading

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201. Towel Movement.

I’m sipping a cup of coffee in the stuttering yellow light of the canteen, letting my greasy breakfast congeal on the plate. I don’t know why I bought it. I didn’t want the eggs from jailbird hens, the bacon from … Continue reading

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200. Cold Cuts

Skittering a little over the chipped concrete. Slivers of sleet and snow slipping from cuff and collar, the freezing metal of my bicycle stem numbing already cold fingers. Something chilly and wet worms it’s way down the back of my … Continue reading

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199. Open Book

Eggs. Beans. Hash browns. Toast. And I’m blushing… Spam. I sometimes even have a full fat Coke. The thing is, when you’ve been blundering around in the dark since 4.30am, breakfast at 8.30am is more like lunch when you’ve skipped … Continue reading

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198. Blunt Force Trauma

There’s been a lot of redundancies round here of late. People who’ve been here seemingly forever suddenly gone, faces older than the factory itself disappearing discretely with a sagging cardboard box filled with their bits of old crap and a … Continue reading

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197. The Wife of Brian

Another Monday. I’m keeping my head down, creeping from cover to cover, filing cabinets and cupboards and other assorted items of office furniture, heading for my desk. I’m avoiding that most horrible ritual at the start of any week – … Continue reading

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