I’m not a writer, at least not in the real sense of the word. Maybe in the way that people who call themselves writers to…
In November of 1963, a woman turned to my father in line at the bank and said – referring to President Kennedy’s recent assassination –…
How strange it was to see her there After so much suffering. Her dying marriage A bleeding and untreated smear, Disguising a love neither would…
“Fourteen quid mate, you won’t get better.” A gruff, squat Cockney barks his offer; Ollie flatly refuses. Malevolence stirs in the stiff air of the grimy taxi firm office.
One morning, while visiting my mother in Florida, I found myself in Publix-the kind of supermarket we used to fantasize about back home-waiting on line for a lottery ticket.
You probably have never heard of fracking, but it’s coming to the UK and it has some hair-raising affects. Harriet Williams investigates.
He kept screaming define me.
I kicked him in the head.
Now he is defined.
Defined as dead.