6
Discombobulated
The elevator light blinked green as it rose up the wall like an intruding vine. Lana had one heel on the swivel chair and one stuck to the carpet on …
City of 43 Angels
Facebook prompts memories of ‘this time last year’ or ‘this time five years ago’ and sometimes you get a sense of ‘shit, I forgot about that whole thing’ or ‘shit, …
Long Beard
The rain subsided though water still covered the road, washing in to the gutters. Jemmie and I were looking to make shenanigans, since the pub had forced its lights and …
Small Things
A one-hundred word story. I’m cashing today’s sales at the bank. Five thousand and sixty-eight dollars. My finger tips steal over the notes. The lady at the teller, I recognise …
Watercolour Painting
(A 50-word story). I had bought the watercolour painting of the 1920s Melbourne streetscape in a downtown marketplace set at the back of an alleyway edging the very same street. …
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 …
Vitamin Crazy
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. …
Jean
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 (3)
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 (2)
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 Entry (1)
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 …
Screw-This-City-Itus: A Guest Post by Jaclyn in London
London, A Guest Post by Jaclyn My first week in London I saw someone pee publicly, it wasn’t at some odd hour of the morning, nothing between the hours …
The Literary Gangster 