Stories and Paintings
The train ride from the airport was pleasant to begin with; outside the window, white clouds drifted through blue skies, while frangipanis bloomed amid the trees whizzing by. Rory regaled me with humorous stories from his prison stay—the humour was black, of course. Very black. The inventiveness of some of the prisoner suicides disturbed me.... Continue Reading →
After Rory’s prison escape, we drove to his uncle’s house, where we caught a few hours’ sleep. Uncle Des woke us at six, and we dined on toasted cheese sandwiches. (Rory ate six of them and kept raving about how good they were. They were okay; Rory had barely eaten in five weeks, so anything... Continue Reading →
In the timid glow of my rental car’s stereo display I watched the night outside. It was dark—too hopeless even for stars. A sliver of moon now and then appeared through the drifting sea of clouds, painting a pale silver outline on the treetops. Behind the giant relic projector screen, the forest grew unchecked, as... Continue Reading →
I remember very little about my great-grandfather. I remember he was very little. Even as a child, when every grown up was like a giant to me, he seemed diminutive and frail. I remember he could drink copious amounts of vodka. For a long time, I assumed all old people could drink like that. And... Continue Reading →
The band mates looked at each other in fear. "I don't think you'll be going to the after-party after all," said Burridge solemnly. He called in a mayday and then pressed some more buttons on the desk. "There's a plan for this kind of situation, right?" asked Daz. Burridge stopped. He turned and looked at... Continue Reading →
