This is where I am right now: standing on the fat and slippery railings of Leeds Bridge, gripping loosely-tightly to the short lamppost above the town crest, staring down into the black, swirling...
The littluns were crying. They were always crying, even when nothing had happened yet.
She turned the light off to slip into her blue-flannel nightdress and switched it on again when she was done. Privacy was paramount.
Candlelight pushed shadows across the damp walls as a gentle breeze swept through the broken window and across the room.
I nearly pushed you under the train this morning. The 8:06 to London Paddington. I saw the way you snarled at me when I said it was freezing, that glint in your eyes that I see so often lately.