Prologue Macao Village, Dominican Republic ‘Iye, iye, iye,’ they cried. A skinny kid wore a YSL belt to hold up the trousers of his funeral suit and played a bamboo trumpet. The trumpet wailed above the revving scooters and tattoo of the drums. The sun flashed on his belt…
They were sitting without touching, side by side on the couch watching the latest AI Studios blockbuster on the wallscreen. It was a Tuesday. Or a Wednesday. Molly was wearing something blue that submerged her in the blue glow of the room. A headline scrolled along the foot of the…
Alec was thinking about skin. How was it formed? Was it just packaging for bones? He pinched the flesh on the back of his hand, watching it spring back. Even as Mr Parsons paced down the rows of desks in his brown leather brogues he couldn’t trust his thoughts not…
It was Thatcher that opened the doors of places like this to people like me, and ever since then bad things have been happening to me almost daily. Now the world spins a cyclone and I pitch headlong into a linen draped table at the end of the room that…
‘The video of your performance in Belfast has gone viral on Twitter,’ said Kaminsky with what Bunter thought was smug satisfaction. You’ve gained 22,000 followers and 82,000 likes. Of course, Siobhan made sure all the silliness was edited out.’ ‘I don’t have a Twitter account,’ said Bunter, attempting to…