The First Recording of Jay-Jay McCabe
This is a strange thing for me. I’m not used to talking. Not into one of these yokes anyway. It’s not a natural thing to converse with yourself. Not out loud. Well… not indoors, at least. There might be something to be said for the open air of a cold morning. But that’s a very different thing.
The Lost Continent
I was sat beside the open window when the letter finally arrived. I had my tools in my lap. They were spread across my knees, pillowed in their rawhide bundle, the compliant, bored and weary instruments of my trade. I was working on the heel of a leather business shoe. It was burnished brown and conservative in nature. I imagined it belonging to some frigid bank-clerk or repressed civil servant, you know the type...
The Communion Shop
It had been a strange day. The snug was packed with people I didn’t know and outside the sun glistened off damp city streets. People hurried along with their shoulders hunched and their collars up, eyeing the blue sky with distrust. The snug’s wooden window-screen kept most of this from the souls huddled within. They sat around their low table on squat stools, elbows up and backs bent, constructing the conversation to plug the gaps...