My fingers wrap around the stone in my pocket, your sticky blood still warm to the touch. I was going to throw it in the
The empty tram trundled along the deserted tracks, sticking rigidly to an irrelevant timetable. At each stop a mechanical voice would tell you where you
This was not the most salubrious establishment in town. The note on the window told you it’s owners were shadowy characters, not open to complaints.
Twitter Fiction in Images Mike Jackson
They wanted me to go in, but I couldn’t. I tried, I really did, but as soon as I reached the stone steps leading up
I have just read a poem by Joe Moran called ‘Job Advert’ which I found highly entertaining. So I have taken the liberty of copying