Sea Wife

Empty your mind. You must learn to eat time.

Fatality

A death is announced.

Flowers

Yellow flowers moving in the breeze.

Ron's not good at writing

A crumpled note, written on the back of an unused till receipt.

Hi Candice

Hope u are ok

Here is my mobile text me.
Maria

Dad, Ron's not good at writing but thinking of you.

07555668985

Ring me please
x x

Jane will never be Louise

- Our Louise was round last Sunday with James and the little 'un. You won't see your Jane as much these days, with her being down in London. How's she getting on?

- Oh she still calls. Every week or so. She's well though, she's doing alright, she's a barrister now.

- A barrister? Really? God, she must be doing alright. Who does she work for?

- Starbucks.

- Oh. A barista.

Bridge Road

Quarter past eleven in the evening. A small road leads upward, bridging a train track some 30 metres below.

Sodium lamps tint the scene with whiskey and marmalade hues. Overhanging foliage rusts, white road markings turn peach. Red wine shadows slosh into the gaps and stain the ground.

A bus shelter halfway up the bridge forms a pool of true colour with its fluorescent bulb. Its inhabitants look harsh and cartoony amid the gentle hues.

Beyond the street lamps, distant houses are purple paper cut-outs against a star spattered summer sky.

Gold.