He’s got a hangover and a half. Eyes look like piss-holes in the snow. Staring out the window like he’s got stuff on his mind, but I bet there’s nothing going on in his head except him wondering when he can have his next drink.
“Tickets, please.” Continue reading “Inspecting”
“So we’re on this date, right, fancy restaurant, posh wine, candlelight so dim she can’t see my face – we’re onto a winner, is all I’m saying.”
Tumbleweed. This crowd is the worst.
“Then the waiter comes over and brings us a menu. And I open it, and I’m looking through, and it all sounds lovely. Posh shit, but lovely. Tiny things on massive plates, with green stuff smeared on the side like baby poo. You know the sort of stuff.” Continue reading “Stand Up, Please”
Members of the queue shuffled from one foot to the other, stretching out their backs and necks now and again to relieve aching muscles and weary joints. Ripples of movement passed through the line which snaked out of the doctor’s practice, down the street, and around two corners. It was only getting longer, but those who joined the back were well aware that by now, their waiting could be in vain. Continue reading “Vial”
I’m gonna have cramp in my hands at this rate. Is that normal? Surely that’s not normal. Maybe I’m holding on too tight. But if I loosen up a bit the whole fucking steering wheel shakes and I’ll end up weaving across all four lanes and I’ll kill everybody.
Is it just my car that rattles like it’s about to explode when I get over 50 mph? Is it ‘cos it’s a doddery old piece of shit? Probably. Couldn’t afford much else though, could I? All my money went on the driving lessons and the retests. Continue reading “Just Passed”
The cottage was cosy in the daytime. At night, it changed.
When the Writer had let herself in through the heavy, wooden front door, observing as she did so the pretty rose bush which creeped up the ragged stone walls to border the entranceway, she’d felt a surge of peace and contentment. This was the place she’d pen her bestseller, she’d told herself, and for an entire fortnight she’d feel right at home and brimming over with inspiration. Only the most exquisite prose could pour from her fingertips when she was holed up in such a serene abode. Continue reading “A Great Story”
Cammy tossed her phone charger and hair straightener into her suitcase and cast her eyes around the room for last-minute additions to her luggage. She scanned through a list in her mind and mentally checked everything off: toiletries, hairbrush, pyjamas, clothes enough for two days, plus a few extra garments thrown in for luck. Continue reading “Nosey”
“And I’m gonna eat less takeaway, and drink less beer, and –”
“Nah, you can’t drink less beer,” Mike tells me with a shake of his head. “You can’t stop coming to the pub.”
“I’ll still come to the pub, I’ll just drink summat else.”
“Vodka!” Tom announces. “Vodka’s purer than beer. And if you have it with cranberry, ‘cos cranberry’s good for your kidneys, it basically cancels out the alcohol. I read it in Jen’s Cosmo magazine.” Continue reading “Resolution”
Three loud knocks jolted the interviewer out of her daze. She let out a small groan, frustrated that yet another candidate had arrived early.
She assumed they all believed that being early would win them points, but in reality it only irritated her. When she said 10.30, she meant 10.30 – not 10.20 or 10.25 or even 10.27. Every single minute of peace was vital when you had to spend your day interviewing inept, inexperienced graduates who knew all the bullshit words in the book to come off as smarter than they actually were. Continue reading “The Interview: Part 2”
The candidate ran his hand through his hair, straightened his tie, and then knocked three times on the door. It was a strong knock, he thought. Firm, yet friendly. At least, that’s how he hoped the interviewer would see it.
He was a few minutes early to demonstrate his time-keeping abilities. After all, he had little else going for him other than the fact that he could avoid tardiness. Continue reading “The Interview: Part 1”