Post addressed to Jonathan Fitch came through my letter-box, and that was who I was. I had a National Insurance number and an account at Lloyds; I had a shoe size and a blood type and a bunch of keys. I was twenty-eight years old and not too bad looking; in the past, when things came to an end with a woman, I’d always been able to find someone new. But now that Serafina was gone I realised too late that I was possessed by her – I had no self to offer anyone else. The house of my self is built on a rock of panic. Now the house was gone and only the panic remained.
And then:
- Mr Rinyo-Clacton’s Offer When I turned on the lights the place came out of the darkness like an animal caught in the headlamps...
- Past ‘n’ present Looking into the Past is one of those Flickr groups that you wish you’d thought of. It seems a little...
- A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius “You know what’s funny,” I say, “the thing I was most worried about when I was down there, in the...
- JPod Most people are able to sift out the day's excess information without ever thinking about it, but to the tech...
- The Pale King ‘My shit story. Hide-and-seek, gang of neighbourhood kids, twilight. I’m running for home base and trip over decorative logs somebody...
- The Secret People Smile at us, pay us, pass us; but do not quite forget, For we are the people of England, that...
