Dead Right Hand
He sits at the bar and stares at the glass in his hand.
He sits at the bar and stares at the glass in his hand.
Carefully, one by one, he began to take the rocks away.
There’s a spatter of stars fighting through the wet orange glow of the street lights, and he spins around as he looks up, his head back, his arms wide.
I lay half on the grass and half on the stones and reflected that this week would’ve had to really strain itself to be any worse.
Hello, Samaritans, can I help you?
Feathers led her over to the spot where the body had been discovered.
19/08/2007 – Photo by Rol Hirst