Cherrypicked stories

David Bowie is black

one year and one month after i dropped the stone down the dark well i still wait to hear it splash silence, silence, a whisper of wind is that my heart knocking against the hollow walls? is that the stone skipping over the mossy bricks?

She still feels for Manet's maid at the overstocked bar, bearing her wrists, saddened and bored despite the spectacle: chandeliers hang like rain clouds, while the height of Parisian entertainment is cut from the frame: the trapeze artist's ankles are all that remain. A gentlemen addresses her bib of pale skin for a flute of Brut and a clementine.

Luke gingerly prodded at his nose and looked back up. Lucy was gone. He slumped down miserably on the kerb and contemplated the bruise that he would have tomorrow. This was not how he planned it. He thought he had finally found it: love that so many wanted but never got. Love that actually involved someone other than himself. Love where he enjoyed waking up next to a woman and hoping she'd stay for breakfast.

It takes us a real long time to get home, a lot longer than normal I think only it's hard to tell coz time has gone all funny. Maybe it's on holiday, I think and that makes me laugh a lot. I try and explain it to Dave but my words come out funny too. Dave smiles though so I know it's ok. I'm glad Dave's with me. Dave's my best mate.

She came into my place of business. Retro Rita was her name.

if I had a gun, and three bullets who would be my victims? image wiki commons, released into PD by jpogi

love endlessly cascades through sound that has no sound

The swimming pool clung like a cold cape to her neck and shoulders, her pink lips, purple cheeks and white ears making her look the least like a flower. Walking home, she concerntrated on the squat yellow line