Regular Terrible
I had just turned 20 when I met Franny, before these weekly drinking sessions at the
Elvis’ Shorts
One thinks of Lucian Freud and Francis Bacon with their paint brushes. They have more in
Portrait Of A Face Without Features
My dour husband, last appropriator of my heart and senses, last in a long line of
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Hushed Sibilance
The air at the back of the conservatory clung heavily, a damp blanket against my throat.
21st Century
It had become glaringly obvious: boredom had set in.The natives no longer climbed the Sacred Rock.There
