Hayes “ ‘Story?, Anto.” Anto shuddered, hearing his name called. He didn’t suffer from the nerves. He just liked to know what was coming, the better he’d be able to handle it. “Ah, Jem,” he said, spotting his greeter, “what’s the crack with yerself?” They were standing on the corner of Bolton St and Capel…Read more Life in another Dimension
Hayes Hamish dashed to catch the eight am express train to the city. He caught it just in time, the loud swishhh of the electric doors behind him and the cold draft of winter air reminded him just how close. The train was packed, with many people standing, briefcases tucked between their ankles, handbags clutched…Read more Hamish takes a Train
Three times we met in the space of a single month. I don’t care what anyone else thinks. That’s not a coincidence. Things don’t happen that commonly, I thought, without a reason, a purpose. Yet, even as I thought this, I began to doubt it. A man can be in two minds, as the saying…Read more The Last Hurrah of a Hungry Poet
It was around noon of a sultry, overcast day. Martin Mint wasn’t sure what he’d do with the rest of it. Pausing, he wondered what he did with it so far. He got up too early, he knew, but even with one thin sheet and his bedroom windows open, sleep was impossible. It wasn’t always…Read more Silver Mint
Image: CartoonStock It was a startling discovery that rocked his fundamental beliefs. For ten years he attended this cafe where the coffee's supreme, particularly with a sticky bun, his secret vice. He came for the poetry, of course, but when he realised they spoke a language he didn't understand, it was meaningless.
Part 1 of The Rise & Fall of Donald Trumpet Esq. Picture credit: nymag.com After posting a story yesterday,, reblogged from The Literary Hub, about the origins of some of those names so beloved of Victorian English writer, Charles Dickens, it occurred to me that Donald Trump would've made an ideal Dickensian moniker. So I…Read more Trumpet’s Triumph, Part I, a Dickensian tale