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recollection
“Stop it, stop it! Stop it!! Jesus, but shut the hell up!” Damned mewy katya. Giving me a fucking headache. I press on in my thoughts, rummaging about for vague words and nagging indescribable...
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egg amid the dandelions
I was sitting in the sunshine amid the dandelions on a particularly blearily clear day, reading Ulysses over a grass-encrusted mug of coffee. Reading about Cyril Sargent, the wimpy little snot only...
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that thing they do
Christ, but this looks complicated. Why French braids? I’m thinking to myself, dousing another quiff of Perrier into a pony tumbler. The things we’d do. Lessee, step the first: brush or comb the hair...
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fragmented postal box
Rutger hasn’t the faintest what to say, facing the splintered unvarnished insides of his postal box glittering in the morning sun. Devastation studded in dewy, damnable diamonds like a fallen monarch....
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