Story: A Sort Of Charity Month
Oct 23rd, 2043. Wednesday. Met up with Max for coffee today. The streets of Ladbroke Grove are still smoking after what happened last night, but society has resumed its pulse almost immediately. It’s funny how adaptable this world has made the people of today. Though, perhaps adaptable isn’t the word for a people that absorb every crisis and then carry on with their lives as they...
I get on the replacement bus and
There’s something missing. The sun conspires with the Sunday to create a kind of easy peace, like a nurse: attentive, but not smothering. But that’s not it. The people don’t shift eyes and bodies for territory like bus people do, instead they blog and chatter in gentle sussurus… but this is not the cause either. The details count for nothing when there has been some...
The Taxi Driver Asks Me:
Have you been working late? Yes, I have. Do you know the way home? I confess, I do not. Have you lived in London long? Not long. Well, long in a way, but I know so little. Why do you not ask me anything? Because I have forgotten to be curious.