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It’s Time The Tale Were Told

by James Hollands

Would you like a sweetie, sir?

The Aftermath and Average

by Ernesto Sarezale

The Private Life of a Public Nudist

THE HOLLOWMEN II

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

By Orlando Harrison

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A remake and aural travesty of T.S. Eliot’s famous wartime toothgrinder.

When Barry met Lucy

By Paul Gregson

Micheal Barrymore meets his new Artist Liaison Officer in Hell

Cocoon, Journey and Woman

by Joanna Pearce

Three Gems

Grace

by Dave McGowan

The cosmos
Seen from outside
Unimaginable heat
Unthinkably cold
Everything within expanding
Zoom in

(Continued)

Number 9

by Rebecca Feiner

The back street building is all decayed grandeur. A place the sun no longer reaches.
Number 9 was once a grand private house. Later it became an inn, kept by Charlie Swinson. Samuel Johnson would drink there, with his mate Joshua Reynolds. In 1764 they elevated their late night sessions into something more distinguished by referring to Number 9 as “The Club”.

(Continued)

Learning the Martial Art of Sex

by Oliver X

Her leg resonates to the clang of pain
And the thrill electrifies her cunt.
With another testosterised swing
The steel of a boot compresses the meniscus of shinflesh
To a foil of active nerve.

(Continued)

Employee of the Month

by Andrew Shoben

I grew up in South London, and like many teenagers, I got a job in the local Tesco supermarket. For the first few months there, I was a Trolley Boy, collecting the metal trollies that piled up in the car park, where shoppers left them after unloading. Occasionally, I’d get lucky, and find a pound coin or two wedged in the little metal box that unlocked them from the Trolley Park. This was a moment of excitement in an otherwise dull, dull job.

(Continued)

Search-Engine Sex

by Isobel Poltroon

I go out on Valentine’s Day to buy my cleaning lady a plastic bucket with a filter on top to squeeze out the mop. She’s worn out the old one, we’ve been together so long. The shop windows are a sickly mess of pink and red, somewhere between an abattoir and a little girl’s bedroom. The shops are full of men whose women set their price at a bunch of red flowers and a meal deal.

(Continued)