Journey To The End Of The Night
The sky in Rancy is the same as in Detroit, a smoky soup that bathes the plain all the way to...
The sky in Rancy is the same as in Detroit, a smoky soup that bathes the plain all the way to...
I am nothing but a corpse now, a body at the bottom of a well. Although I drew my last breath long...
I don’t know what started it. A bunch of men came by my Uncle Ed’s place and said...
I may need more time. You do not need time. I am going to kill who I need to kill, don’t worry...
At first I thought it was a cop and a shoeshine boy; then there was a break in the traffic and...
“Come in,” I said. The door opened slowly. A group of youth members crowded forward,...
‘Every persisting marriage is based on fear,’ said Peregrine. Fear is fundamental, you dig down in...
At that time I was into finding and cleaning the skeletons of dead things. Mostly birds. I would...
But lately, as I track my mother’s shifting relation to her crime, I’ve remembered rumours of a...
But it was spring. Even the lion licked the lioness’s smooth forehead. Both animals blond. The...
The Madman. Have you ever heard of the madman who on a bright morning lighted a lantern and ran to...
Lambeth belonged administratively, at least until 1888, to the county of Surrey – meaning that the relatively strict laws that applied to the capital’s citizens did not apply to anyone who ventured, via one of the new bridges like Waterloo, Blackfriars, Westminster or Hungerford, into the wen of Lambeth. The village thus became fast known as a site of revelry and abandon, a place where public houses and brothels and lewd theatres abounded, and where a man could find entertainment of all kinds – and disease of all varieties – for no more than a handful of pennies.