It had been almost a year since I had found the Fat Man’s house. I wondered if Iwas better in any real sense, any more prepared for the world that had beenworking out full strength this whole time in spite of us, throwing up new apartmentblocks
I woke up with a stabbing feeling, a sound I felt, the screeching of braking a train on the tracks. Awake but unable to move I knew that the Fat Man was in the room with me. I could smell the putrid dampness of his skin. After a moment my body
It was the great chasm that motivated me. The unassailable gap between the bombed out villages and thriving city centres. That abscess of white noise and polished floors between the churchyards and dirty backrooms, spaces with no greater purpos
I crisscrossed the first room with torchlight revealing that the wall was floor to ceiling with stacked VHS tapes. I searched the wall for a light switch and to my surprise the light came on. I turned off the torch and then gathering my courage
I swilled the mixture of blood and toothpaste and spit around my mouth and let it dribble out spoiling the perfect white of the sink. My teeth were crooked and stained the same mustard colour as the walls of old pubs. I ran the nail of my thum
Soon after meeting The Kid I moved in with him in the Last Free House in the World. It was during a cold winter, the kind which cracks cobblestones and the room we shared had broken windows that he’d hastily repaired with gaffer tape and cardb