Tag Archives: general lucifer

193. Could be Worse.

Past a machine and another machine, one spitting letters into a hopper, the other choked with chewed up paper and hissing like a feral beast. Past the gaping lockers filled with tea bags and stained mugs and coffee rings, socks … Continue reading

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192. Squiggles.

I’m staring out of the window, looking at the trees. Whoever designed the factory all those years ago decided that trees would soften the impact of this great, rumbling, shuddering blot on the landscape, so we have trees. I’ll admit … Continue reading

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187. The Little Book of Big Penis

I’m looking for magazines for thirteen year old girls. Yes, you read that right. If you didn’t, here it is again. I’m looking for magazines for thirteen year old girls. Possibly not the wisest combination of words to tap into … Continue reading

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185. Excess Baggage

The hot, Tuscan wind whips across the cracked concrete of the runway, mixing with the heat of the jet engines, the heat from the sun, the stored heat from the baked ground. We are going home. The tired Ryanair plane … Continue reading

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163. Fiesta.

Standing at the side of the ring road for years and years, waiting for buses that are late, on time, that never come. Huddled in a freezing bus shelter or standing in the sun, standing in the dark, standing in … Continue reading

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161. The Woman Through the Wall

Two seventeen in the morning. I lie awake and stare through the darkness at the slit of light on the ceiling that drifts with each passing car, listening to the screaming and shouting coming through the wall. My wife whispers, … Continue reading

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156. The hour of the Moth.

It is the hour of the Moth. I lie on my bed in the half darkness, the perpetual twilight of streetlight and candlelight, listening to night sounds. The torpid air listlessly shifts the limbs of monstrous poplars and sycamores outside … Continue reading

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