Saturday Night
They wait on motorised chairs and plastic seats, with stalks of shiny steel that rise up above balding heads and greying hair, bags of saline, intravenous prick. In sombre states of lonely dementia, depression, and other severe ailments, they sit in rows – three deep, five across, care home attendants looking on. They wait for
Lorenzo’s Girl
I’m sitting at a pavement table outside Lorenzo’s and a bus drives past, a big red bendy one with dusty adverts down its side. It snakes down a busy road, Route 35 to Clapham, its occupants sweltering in a tight, airless cocoon. It’s another humid day in London, and I’m working on another cold pint
Photo Albums
The pictures taught him respectability. One of a young Jewish girl with tattered stripes and the yellow ‘Judenstern’. Another of broken bones and ash cloud plumes above chimney stacks. That little boy was upset by the images and he tried to think of other things like runaway horses, iron hooves and the overgrown vegetation of