josiedog

Primary tabs

TypeTitleAuthorRepliesLast updated
Forum topicA life that would have been by Foster Juliet OC2019 years 11 months ago
Forum topicPenguin Jack Cade719 years 11 months ago
Forum topicCurtains by Tanis. QueenElf619 years 11 months ago
Forum topicMy Demon (cont) by Lisa Hinsley. maisie1919 years 11 months ago
Forum topicNaughty By Nature 4 (edit) chimpy519 years 11 months ago
Forum topicDismissive Me Anonymous2519 years 11 months ago
Forum topicgood news giraffes maggie1319 years 11 months ago
Forum topicWhat Do You Look Like? rokkitnite16519 years 11 months ago
Collectiongood news giraffes maggie1119 years 11 months ago
Forum topicName Picking fergal2219 years 11 months ago
Forum topicThe Dog Day by Maisie lisa h420 years 1 week ago
Forum topicBag of Weasels ch. 12 , by Josiedog. maisie220 years 2 weeks ago
Forum topicagents again ivoryfishbone3020 years 2 months ago
Forum topicFray Bentos 2- Roast Beefs 3 flash520 years 3 months ago
Forum topichttp://www.abctales.com/story/soraia-almeida/by-default Yutka220 years 3 months ago
Forum topicWorst time to be cherry picked! Laura Callender1320 years 4 months ago

My stories

Fetch the Dog

It was a fetch. Of my dog. Fetch the dog. Not funny. If I explained to anyone, they'd say it was the heroin. "It's the heroin! They'd say. Like I was stupid.

Bag of Weasels. Chapter 4.

I got yanked up and scraped over the low wall next to the towpath, spun round and put back on my feet, then looked up into the face of Ralph. "What the fuck do you want? he growled.
Cherry

Fridge Mountain

Nine-year old Junior Jones discovers the dump for the first time, and its crowning glory -the heap of discarded fridges etc

Bag of Weasels. Chapter 3

Right about now I reckoned Ralph would be stamping out his mission-from-god, daily crowd clearing path up Richmond Hill, holding up his precious object like a piece of the true cross. London has its ways, and some of those ways - the less trodden, the hidden and meandering - are now mine: and so I weaved my own way down.
Cherry

Bag of Weasels. Chapter 2

On a good day I know, I'm not the full ticket; on a bad day I don't know my arse from my elbow. So I've been told, and so it is written; it must be true. I've learnt to live with it after a fashion, and I can tie my own shoelaces and count to ten, but for the sake of my head I stay off the maindrag. I was on a downward curve about then anyway, drifting like litter down side streets and alleyways, slipping into the empty, unused spaces, the long-untouched deserted houses; cracks in the city, cracks in between. London was a scary place for me.

Pages