A small-time neighbourhood hoodlum shows some compassion for one of her victims. Continue Reading Tuesday Afternoon
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I am a stinking drunk, old, dissolute, grizzled, unkempt; a writer. Like so many other decrepit desperadoes in search of their long-lost orgasm, the bars and strip clubs of North ...
Haight Street smells like bong residue left on a beer-soaked couch overnight. The smoke from sandalwood incense wafting out of the Liquor and Vitamin store adds to the reek. Me ...
Nick felt a fierce surge of joy as he struck the match. He cupped his hand to shield the sudden flare, the hot tang of phosphorus strong in the cool ...
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They hadn’t spoken in nearly a year. Not since she had stashed the brown paper bag on the shelf for packages in the Asian Studies faculty mailroom, his name scrawled ...
Step step step step step Kctrararararararara cladanck We were sitting out on the steps and the cracks and the rolls and the silence before landing I was sitting ...
The curtains were still drawn, the bed was made, the photograph of me and Steven outside the laundrette was still gone, along with the only gold ring that she had ...
The first time I saw her was in the Enge Kerk Steeg, the Scary Church Alley, in the walletjes, in the ouwehoerenbuurt, in the red-light district of Amsterdam. They call ...
I am fix broken cash register when gunman come inside. I don’t know he has gun first, because gun inside pants, under jacket, and I don’t see. He look at ...
About Emily CleaverEmily Cleaver is Litro’s Online Editor. She is passionate about short stories and writes, reads and reviews them. Her own stories have been published in the London Lies ...