Brooklands
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My stories
Kolkata
Morning on the corner of Kyd and Sudder, a man squats with the Hindustan Times and a clay shot of chai, shitting with pride.
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- 1301 reads
Very well travelled
With a nose like concorde she sniffs her bloody Mary and, in a tannoy-smooth voice, as though announcing descent, she asks for a jerk more tabasco.
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- 1220 reads
Coma
The sound was still there when, that night, I pulled up on top of Cefn Bryn to watch Mars. You can tell it's a planet because it doesn't twinkle. It's more like a torch with the batteries nearly dead. The sound was there when I tried to get to sleep. There were crickets too, loud as maracas. I hummed La Bamba as I drifted off.
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- 1394 reads
Hello symbolism!
Crows at poolside. Crows stealing blood blister maraschino cherries from the swim-up bar. (everybody knows the collective noun for crows, nowadays) Eight crows at poolside. A small Bengali boy in a yellow T-shirt that says "King Team!" chasing after a crow, blowing it away as if it were a bubble.
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- 1350 reads
December in Puri
My advent calendar of malarone pills lets me now it's Christmas day. The mosquito bites on my back spell twenty-four degrees: winter. Only at dusk, mopeds careening at sixty, do we encounter some real weather:
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- 1331 reads