Doctor Faustus
An appointment with Doctor Faustus. Clinical Psychologist. I’m sunk deep in this old armchair, the one with the springs poking through like bad memories, and the room’s half-lit, half-dead, snow still spitting against the window. The clock’s oak pendulum swings back and forth, steady as a hangover heartbeat, counting me out. I’m just letting go,
The Trader’s Bell
Maharaj and Co. General Suppliers, Established 1888. the floor’s these wide, beat-to-shit planks of Canadian pine, scarred and grey like the skin on an old whore’s thighs, been there since the clippers came in heavy with tea from the east. sailors with arms like dock ropes drag crates, sweat cutting channels through the grime on