The 300

As soon as our eyes met I knew what Love was. He was already standing on the street, five doors down, leaning on a lamppost when I turned the corner.

...she squeezed her head closer to the pane, trying to tell if she could see her visitor. But nothing. Nothing and noone to be discerned in the raging black.

Old gold and brown trout shout and slumber in the village burn beneath the lumber of the infrequent frantic and inarticulate lorries and vans the farmers barge by on the bridge above.

I begin to tidy. And where does one begin to tidy first?

Drab Joe’s tumult began each day at four past six in the morning with a walk of Rocker to the beat of his heels and the pace of the bird-song.