A boy was killed down at the docks today. Crushed beneath a crane. A woman tells me about it as I pour hazelnut syrup into her latte.

Pila I am woken by a pair of firm hands yanking me upright by the throat, nails digging into the slow-healing tissue. What is it with my throat? “Hello Roomie.”

Imagine how hard it would be to live next door to a graveyard if you really believed in ghosts. Now imagine how hard it would be to watch a builder turn over that graveyard and find nothing in it...

I've earned the right to call him a spaz.

The child picks the roll up from the red plastic plate Brittle bits break off the hard barrel It is a pallid, gold-brown colour-with hollows and yellowish seeds

it amazes me that really, all a teardrop is is just water i silently give reverence to the ocean for i wonder, how it could ever hold such sorrow and yet so much life beneath its waters

'Force-feed a fowl with corn and they will call you a man of great taste. Yet force-feed a man of great taste with corn and they will merely call you foul.'