I have 82 stories published in
11 collections on the site.
My stories have been read 46932 times and 72 of my stories have been cherry picked.
Night: its cross-hatching of antilight behind the eyes; its white-noise hiss of unused sound.
Even depression these days is branded in London. Mine is delivered as a blank parcel to the mind, its contents an image of the Hanger Lane Gyratory...
In the warm cabin, The girl swept the crepe mixture round the circular griddle like a World War II radar. The other side of the counter, the air was crisp and cold.
Boxing Day at Stansted; each expression is the scab-picked wound of a Christmas too quickly spent.