He comes at me like a small windmill of anguish, arms churning the air as he rolls forward. And he does seem to roll rather than walk. His chubby torso moves up the narrow sidewalk as the background slides away. There are two planes of focus sliding in opposite directions, each sharp and defined. I am trapped in a Spike Lee movie; an extra in one of his double dolly shots.
There’s a feral cat watching the birds. Sparrows mainly. The birds remain oblivious, searching for crumbs which the tourists scatter unheedingly in their tracks. There are a great many tourists. It’s hard to understand why this place should appeal to the average visitor. I should know, I’m there against everything I’ve practised in my life. And, I’ve been a sinner – if sinners remain a recognised species. But I had to come. Something inexplicable drew me. Even so, the vast numbers are off putting and I’m wondering if there’s something else. Something I haven’t yet understood. Is it a bank holiday, or is there going to be a local football derby?
Leila has been down the mine again. This time she has unearthed an old piece that she felt was well overdue for a rerun. This is what she said:
Continue reading “Literally Reruns – Conscious Coward by Vic Smith”
Back to normal this week although we do have another two Saturday Specials waiting in the wings.
Continue reading “Week 218 – Casserole Dishes, First Submissions And Mutant Eyebrows”
Lucas stopped because of the compliment. It came from a PR girl, who was canvassing Oxford Street’s dense lunchtime crowd.
“Yes,” she muttered, catching his eye. “Definitely.”
Hi. My name is Gertie McDowell. I was born in Turkey Roost, Kentucky, which ain’t much to brag about. The town, if you want to call it that, has half a dozen streets, a whole bunch of bars, and a McDonald’s whose arches are always powdered with coal dust. Just a typical strip-mining town is all. On Saturday night, a girl can’t do much except stroll up and down the main drag. Or maybe gather a few girlfriends for a slumber party and watch movies on the Turner channel. I watch a lot of movies, and I like the old musicals best. My favorite is West Side Story—Natalie Wood sure could sing. But I’m kinda getting off the subject.
“Just follow me,” George said, “and you’ll know everything about Glastonbury, because I know everything about it. They all call me the king, everyone does, even mum.”
There are two worlds.
One is conscious that we see.
And one is invisible that we feel
-Anon.
“And then she invited him over for lunch! Her man’s not dead a year and she’s already at that bowls club on the prowl.” The old woman’s bonnet bounced up and down as she spoke. The rain continued to pound the pavement as she and her friend passed. Sam listened to her story, smiling a little. If they hadn’t been walking right in front of him he might have thought that they were speaking to each other from across the road, their voices were that loud. He wondered if they realised how loud they were, if they were both hard of hearing or just assumed the other was because of their age.
Ever reliable, even at great personal cost! Leila Allison has offered up another suggested Rerun which apparently focuses her attention on that which she would rather ignore, and this is what she said:
Continue reading “Literally Reruns – The Manufacturing of Sorrow by Bob Thurber”
literally stories 