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Louie, Louie
I see him, old Louie and he just stands there and stares like some big old thing. His shades loping. His brows furrowed. His sills dusty. But everyday I sing …
Tram Diary Entry Five
There’s something in the air. I don’t know what it is. But the people are howling and the stray dogs are quiet and it scares me. The tram rattles by. …
Tram Diary Entry Four
He waddles through the front door bearing a rustic suitcase and treasure shaped box, most likely holding all of his life’s possessions. Mauritius, he says to me. I go Mauritius. …
Tram Diary Entry Three
He despises ties. And high heel shoes. They don’t tap on, they only tap off their minds so they don’t have to tap in to each other’s worlds. His face …
Tram Diary Entry Two
Rain finds solace in the ends of my straw hair for a moment then is absorbed faster than the trams do pull up before me and he leans out of …
Tram Diary
I don’t know why, but in much the way I gain inspirational ideas from messages I read in toilet cubicles, I also gain from the simple act of taking a …
Hermann ‘Gangster’ Hesse
I am reading Steppenwolf. A bright orange Penguin version. But the pages are rough and the ‘wolf haunts me and that is how I like it. I’ll be honest, I …
