Have you seen the landlord, Who owns a third of Lansdown, Sucking up the rent To fund his year-long cruise? In his eyes you see pound signs, Glinting at the arrears fines, Interest just soaring, Oh how could he lose? So how can you tell me that my nation’s broke? And say we … More Streets of Lansdown
Despite the sharp chill blowing from the mountains, the boy was sweating. He’d been watching the door of the Skyland restaurant for over an hour now, and looked on in dismay as it got busier and busier. He checked the barrel of his Grandfather’s Webley revolver one last time, then stowed it behind him, tucking … More Under the Counter
Have you ever felt the true pulse of another? When the heart is driven only by impulse and instinct? Perhaps when pressed close, by happy circumstance or mutual exertion. Has your own heartbeat quickened in response? If not, then stop listening. This is a tale of throbbing and intrigue, not fit for dainty ears. Read … More Bane of Cawdor.I.
I count myself blessed. I may be but a window, but I am frequented. We Tuscan windows are known as ‘the eyes of buildings’. Eyes are oft known as ‘the windows to the soul’. Therefore, I count myself soulful. I am an observer of encounters: both voyeuristic and by mutual consent. A connoseur of many … More Allegedly (an imagining of what the window from ‘Much Ado about Nothing’ would say, given half the chance.
Henri worked in the middle. He was the workhorse: scraping relentlessly, back glistening with perspiration and never an upward glance (at least whilst the clients were there). He was the only one that knew what he was doing, as he had been trained in the trade. Pierre-Antoine toiled to the left (that is, the propriotor’s … More The Floor Scrapers