Once a week Kate sits in his small office, laying out stories spanning her thirty years. Loose pages of a book, confessional secrets for her pastoral counselor to untangle and make sense of, they tell of her father’s angry outbursts and stony silences, her mother’s icy glares and disapproving comments, her own struggle for self-esteem.
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Gil’d kill for some coffee right now. Grains of sleep linger in his lashes. That trail of gross leaves is still there. He stares. Fuck fresh air, he has just decided. Not fresh air as a thing. Not fuck photosynthesis. Not fuck that. Fuck no. But as a judgment. A kind of putdown. That greener
Sunday 24th September 11p.m. Dominic, or the purveyor of lies as I now think of him, left me three weeks ago. No warning signs. No argument or chance to talk things over. Just a scribbled note. That’s our goodbye. What kills me is Dominic spends a fortune on bespoke stationery, Mont Blanc pens, Japanese stamp
FICTION … A Mohamed Abdulraheem: The Leper Kevin Acott: Crack Nicole Acquah The Butterfly Effect George Aitch: Refugees Ellen Akerman: Asunder Sascha Aurora Akhtar: The Nature of Wounds Dave Alcock: Companions Vanity E. Alexandra: Three Orchids Charlotta Amato: Il Ragazzo JL Amphlet: Groomed Derek Andersen: The Sinner Aleksandra Andrejevic-Bullock: The Party Lauren Andrews: Chocolate Lily Steven Arciniega: The Most Invisible Mexican Sean Arnett: Young Boys
Before I went downstairs to the casino I gave Bill a call because I didn’t want to have to check in all night long. Not that I had to check in, Bill wasn’t that kind of guy, but old habits die hard. -Be safe, he said. I promised I would be safe…if I felt like
He was crossing the road onto Trafalgar Square just like everyone else around him. They were tourists, for the most part, people who had come here deliberately. It was going to be an evening for it. The clouds, if they could even be called that, had floated off again, leaving no doubt about the weather.
All is Numbered. -Pythagoras I have an unhealthy relationship with numbers, garden variety numbers; Numerophobia, maybe you’d call it. I place enormous importance on the information they contain, their overt and covert messages. And despite the fact that numbers inevitably let me down, like friends who betray me, still I return to them, looking for
A year ago today I took the photograph that changed my life and had an impact on the lives of others I could not have foreseen. It has changed the way I see my work, the city and myself. The image has appeared in newspapers and magazines, analogue and digital, on every continent. People applaud
In the early 2000s I had a close friend named Tyrell; he and I were about as different from each other as you could possibly imagine. For starters, Tyrell was black; I’m white. He grew up in Ventura, an hour and a half north of Los Angeles along the coast—where I was born—and I grew
Alex loosened his belt two notches but the action failed to ease his discomfort. Undoing his trouser top button, he felt his stomach sag forwards. He hadn’t visited the gym in 6 months: It was one more reason for him to hate himself. Alex was sitting in the King’s Metro bar, supposedly one of Toronto’s