The Traveller's Gift_For the Want of a Nail_Sexy Threads_Liar, Liar
Catalog Guide:
The Traveller's Gift
Growing up, my father taught me two things.Don’t talk to strangers. And never try to turn the clock back.Yet, the precarious situation that I find myself in, demands that I do both. Or at least one of them.I stop the turban-clad man on the high street and ask “Where am I?”He is taken aback. I’m sure he doesn’t get asked this question every twilight by a proper white girl in her teens, strolling past a temple.He communicates through incoherent speech, head nods, and movement of his forearms. I catch ‘Mysore’, ‘mem sahib’, ‘danger’ and ‘go home’.There’s a hush followed by the trotting. A palanqu...
For the Want of a Nail
FOR THE WANT OF A NAILThe Ancient Mariner said ‘Water water everywhere and all the boards did shrink, water water everywhere nor any a drop to drink. How can that be? I hear you ask, well the reason is not what you think. The tap came off in the kitchen the one over the washing up sinkStupid, stupid me!! I had nothing to do with killing an albatross yet here I am spending valuable time making up a poem about an absolute disaster in my own home. It was the thought of the boards shrinking that did it. Polished wood floors and water are not a recommended combination. I have a flood Noah would ...
Sexy Threads
The Bluetooth speaker glowed a rainbow of colors as a 90s dance tune came on and filled the livestock arena with its infectious rhythm. Laurent snapped to attention and turned his ears to the music. It was his favorite song. He squared his shoulders, arched his back, his head held high on his long, graceful neck. He strutted to the song beneath the overhead lights, making eye contact with his enraptured audience. “I’m sexy and I know it,” crooned the speaker. The audience cheered and applauded. Laurent swished his tail.“Look at him, nose in the air, looking down on us like he’s superior,” spa...
Liar, Liar
What can I say? The guy’s my best friend—but he’s a pathological liar. This morning, for instance. We are at the indie coffee shop, in a line-up moving as slow as Saturday on a long weekend. Norman places his order, saying, “It’s a lovely day for a latte,” and the barista gives him a second look before she touches her order screen. She takes a cup and asks for his name. “Sam,” he says. His eyes flicker to her name badge as she marks the cup. Then he says, “Juliet, I forgot… could you make it almond milk instead of cow’s?” “Oh.” She glances at her screen. “You don’t have to cancel the order and...