A chap started speaking to me on the train this morning. He told me he had just killed his wife, shot her twice in the head, and was off to Bristol to kill again.
I turned to the sports section in the newspaper.
England Lose By Six Wickets.
Anton lives in Durham, U.K. He writes fiction and poetry while trying to finish a PhD, all fueled by numerous cups of tea. Find him at antonrose.com or @antonjrose.
He chose two wheels, not four, for his commutes to and from work, citing improvement in health and environmental concerns.
When he started dating a co-worker, he worried she’d find him cheap.
Instead, she embraced his philosophical outlook and their love deepened as they wheeled a bicycle built for two.
Krystyna writes poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction. She delights neighbourhood cats with her singing.
Darla’s commute was awful: it took two hours to get from her downtown apartment to the wastelands, where she hunted the secret dragons.
Her friends thought she was a paralegal. They might ask uncomfortable questions if she moved to the suburbs, and it was already hard enough hiding the scars.
“I really hate traffic,” complained Gary. “Why do things always get so congested and chaotic?”
“What we need is a new system,” said Gordon. “New leadership.”
“Well,” said Gary, “it might as well be me.”
Gary pressed forward and took the lead of the flock’s migratory Vee formation.