He knew he’d reached middle age when his legs defied him each morning and when an afternoon snooze became a requisite for a good day.
Gabby abases himself before post-lunch Sabbath dreams. But when he wakes he thinks he is beside himself, caught off-kilter, unbaked, unfinished. It’s like someone’s drawn his outline and not coloured him in.
Continue reading “Gabby Gets Some Colour in His Cheeks by Antony Osgood”