by Alexandra Lister
… through plumes
of cigarette smoke, the boy with the
anchor tattoo got drunk for the first time
and we looked up to see the early swallows come
in over London like tiny bombers…
[read more…]
Mar 012012
Smoke 16
Feb 282012
“Simon Groom, Goldie and the Mayor of Greenwich leave their hand and paw prints in Woolwich town centre.” [read more…]
Feb 262012
as heard by Matt Haynes
Number 100 to… Shadwell. The next stop is… Pocock Street – oh, look, I really can’t be doing with all this. If you didn’t know what route I was or where I was going, why would you have got on? I mean, I’m contractually obliged to spout all this guff, but frankly it just insults us both. [read more…]
Feb 252012
THE WALTHAMSTOW TRIPOD
WHAT IS IT?
WHAT’S IT FOR?
WHO PUT IT THERE?
DO YOU THINK THE THING ON THE TOP MIGHT START FLASHING AFTER DARK?
[find out more…]
Feb 232012
by Cassandra Solon-Parry
The man who gets on the bus after me is wearing the same outfit I am: charcoal denims, black leather jacket, white pumps. We acknowledge this then look away. Later, when the person sat between us leaves, we glance up and find ourselves looking at each other again. I’m reading a music magazine. He’s listening to music through a shiny red iPod. I make a point of not smiling and then I look out the window. [read more…]
Feb 202012
Half man, half bull, he prowls the Barbican highwalk…[see more…]
Feb 182012
by Simon Sylvester
So I pick him up from the Camberwell depot, depot, and he’s there with his flat cap and his dreads and his fingerless gloves, leather for better grip, see, mouthing off with all that niggatalk, but I don’t dig his vibe. Not at all, man. I reckon he tries too hard. I reckon he be days away from being busted. [read more…]
Feb 162012
by Sabrina Mahfouz
The eldest ties her sister’s scarf
back around her hair –
not too tight. [read more…]
Feb 132012
by Jude Rogers
He found her on the railway line. Her hair was bright yellow, the colour that children paint sunlight, tied in thick bunches around her small, cold cheeks. She wore a blue shirt, as brilliant as a summer sky. In her left hand, she held a small bunch of daisies. [read more…]
Feb 112012
by Adam E. Smith
The day doesn’t really start till 6, so I usually get up at 5 to have a look around before anyone else is about. That hour is my time, when the world belongs to me because no one else is up. Except Geoff. Geoff works at the dock. I know he’s called Geoff because it says so on the door of his shack. During the day, Geoff paces alongside the dock like a linesman, talking to the people on their swanky yachts. [read more…]