Tag Archives: nineties

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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157. Captain Blood

“OH JESUS FUCKING CHRIST!” I sat bolt upright in a bed I didn’t know, in a room I’d never seen before. A digital alarm clock by the side of the bed told me it was 8.49am and it was a … 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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141. Stepping Out

“I’m knocking.” Giz another card, lad.” “Here you go, Stan.” “Fuck. I’m knocking too.” “I’m not. What about that lot?” “Bastard.” The slap of dog-eared playing cards and the slurp of tea. The soft hiss of a Calor gas heater. … Continue reading

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109. Sheepish.

I walked through platemaking, but there wan’t a platemaker to be seen. You’d usually find Weasel in his corner, mug of tea in his bony fist, crouched over the Racing Post with a greasy stub of pencil, making notes in … Continue reading

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106. Four Minutes.

“Aye, it’s funny the stuff you remember,” he said. Bernie was crouched over a circuit board, huge hands deftly dabbing a soldering iron onto contacts, little wisps of smoke drifting up from the quivering silver. “I always went to the … Continue reading

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