Sep 19, 2008 | Fiction |
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,...
Dec 20, 2006 | Fiction |
…in a world where our every move is monitored and recorded, where in department stores cameras watch you, where people constantly jostle you, where a person cannot even make love without being quizzed the next day by researchers and polltakers (where you make...
