Charlotte
there I was, rattling along on through the grey English drizzle, the underground tube train clicking under my feet, when I spotted her across the aisle—dark hair falling wild, eyes like midnight streets—and I leaned over, heart beating that crazy beat, and asked if I could take a photo of her, just a quick one
The Storm
the sky over Jesus Green is one big hangover, black and bloated, hanging there like a drunk who won’t leave the bar. it’s waiting, holding, ready to let it all go in one grand pathetic flood. then it starts. I look up through the shitty streetlight that’s got a sign dangling off it—faulty, please report—like