Cherrypicked stories

When no one was listening we were cavalier with sound quality. played the moog synth in the bath

I bought the nature dvd's wanting you to see, before the flat magic of cartoons where no one hurts, dies, just lies plastic, smooth, as throw away buys in landfill sites forgotten yet unrotting

I wonder if salmon taste whisky A dead sheep melts into the sand

Mum stood at the door looking anxiously, first at the clock, next at Gillian's hemline. I think it was just starting to dawn on her that perhaps there was another kind of party after all. 'Have fun,' she said with a shakey voice, her hands clasped tight by her navel. I waved goodbye and we headed up the road.

Wake like adrenaline

Teach me please, the theology of fingertips

200 words.

Vicky is walking through a narrow mews she has taken quite by accident. She is only a few minutes from the club but feels lost; it is as if miles from anywhere. She comes to a stop outside a shop and gazes up at a little black dress that is short, sleeveless, unassuming. Like me, she thinks. The thought whisks away as her curiosity moves from the dress to the mannequin wearing it. She has long brown hair, brown eyes and sulky lips like she's been waiting for a boyfriend and has reached the moment when she knows he's not going to show up. The mannequin's head is turned to one side and she has one leg slightly raised, as if she has better things to do than just stand there.

"But why me? I asked. I was sitting at the desk on the opposite side of The Captain. The Captain was a large corpulent man given to sudden bouts of anger. The other officers said it was best to butter him up, but I had always found him very fair, without having to slip into unfeigned sycophancy.