The Dead Letter
That summer morning was humid, bright, and busy. The girls were rushing around doing homework, digging out plimsolls, and searching for lunch boxes; raisins, cucumber, and tubs of yoghurt – packed lunches. It arrived in the morning post, bundled with bills, catalogues, and fast-food flyers. The postmark was antipodean, and the franking skew with surreal
Charlotte
I asked a girl on a train if I could take her picture. She said yes. It was a small portrait in black and white, with defined shadows and cropped edges. I took many. “Do you like to dance?” she asked. “Yes, but only 70’s disco.” “What about house music, it’s similar to disco?” And