by Jude Rogers
Out of Hackney Downs station, the day is spinning into life. The old lollipop man stands on the kerb outside Brook Community School. A flash of yellow neon, bright eyes, white teeth. His head turning left, turning right, both feet forward, across. He holds his lollipop in front of him, high like a mitre. Children hurry past, their shouts circling above him. In the middle of the tornados of decibels, he stands still, as calm as a prophet. [read more…]
by Matt Haynes
The lorries are starting to move now, rumbling across the deck of the James Newman and onto the ramps that shake and ring beneath their tyres. He is supposed to leave too, supposed to climb the yellow metal steps from the passenger deck to the red metal gates that always remind him of Meccano. There is an announcement over the tannoy, every time a ferry docks, forbidding passengers to remain on board. [read more…]
by Jude Rogers
On the way to Ferry Lane, you find a car park outside the industrial estate. Blue, red, white, silver, gun gold. Two teenagers are in the front seat of a Hyundai Sonata, kissing. They break off; the girl bites his ear just below the earring. The boy laughs, brushing steam off the windscreen. [read more…]
by Matt Haynes
Across the road, a window is piled high with what look like stacks of pillows. Grubby white letters on a green awning above it read: Victory Food Stores, Jesus is Lord, Phil.2:11. Beside the food store is a nail salon, then a jeweller’s, a florist’s, and – I stare at the words above the next doorway: Divine Money, Financial Services. Why is that so familiar? Obviously it’s the sort of name you remember, but – where would I be remembering it from? [read more…]