Brooklands
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My stories
Bid for a readership
Welcome, weary traveller, into this musty tab: take your finger off the mouse wheel, tune your ear to the centrifugal hard drive - it's discus of memory and memory of history. All the places
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- 991 reads
Susan makes me think of something
There was enough room for a sparrow to perch in the waiter’s earlobe. A sparrow, its ears burning, flew in through the back door, bounced on the windows, and then left.
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- 992 reads
Distances in distances
I had boring dreams the night before we met. Seagulls were stunt kites shaped like seagulls. Meanwhile, outside the dream: the roof coughed up slate, a mad gate did its nut, unhinged.
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- 1057 reads
Breakfast
Give me your hand, my dear, dip your fingers in to this bowl of tepid porridge. Close your eyes.
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- 1051 reads
The Gambler
He lets women spin through his mind. Blurred at first, the reel slows – a cherry, a seven, then stops at Maria from the library.
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- 1273 reads