Something I wrote a few days ago that I wasn’t going to publish, but I looked at it today and edited it into a shape that wasn’t ‘amorphous blob of thought’. Consider it a musing on talented people and identity and how terribly haunted everyone is by their own pasts. View Full Post
Liquor, Bond, Dark: A Short Story
“They say when you sleep you dream of being me,” she says, moving a finger down the sweat of the tumbler. The mute torrent of Tokyo rain on the glass walls smudges neon in broad strokes across the skyline.