Vivid prose from Lois Linkens
late streets hum with the clatter of party-goers, who carry the stench of cheap perfume and cigarettes on their mouths like an oath. they stumble over damp stones, falling into windows and leaving them stamped with sticky fingers and smoky breath. they draw rude pictures in the steam.
the shop owner will stand in the morning and sigh, reaching for the disinfectant. he is used to it, and they all are. the people in bed will jam their pillows over their ears and stuff the window frames with tea towels, cursing the day they signed for a house on the high street. they become accustomed to the chanting and shouting, the whistles and the wailing. they just wish it had been detailed in the small print.
the drunkards stampede. like a fervoured flock, they flounder through the night like werewolves, bewitched and angry.
it is Alfie’s first night. his throat…
View original post 195 more words