Maybe it was from the sea. Like those grainy old movies Dad and her watched.
“Bill!” I hear call, and then it’s tits to the wind, bastard and biting cold as it is, and I’m all down in tangles and the alarums shriek in the headphone and it’s all talk talk from then on.
So we’s standing on the brink, and we’s chucking rocks as is common hereabouts over the side, and us hearing out for what the rocks might sing out as they fall.
Tonya had contracted the American habit of using ‘already’ as an intensifier following a prolonged bout of what Dudley called ‘trash TV’.
Hello there. Bob Gorsh is my name, and this notebook is going to be my summer project, because the wife says I need a summer project.
When Timothy Thomas tells the story, his face lights up from within, like a lantern at Hallowe’en, or a house on fire.
I try to stay calm.