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Weekly Contest #172
Tabitha turns to the left, turns to the right. Purses her lips. ‘How do I look?’ Jacob glances over his newspaper. She’s in the green floral number. He weighs his answer for a moment. ‘Terrible.’ Tabitha sucks in her tummy a bit and gives her bosom a hoick. ‘Really?’ Jacob returns to his article. ‘Dog’s dinner, my darling.’ He raises an eyebrow at his inadvertent alliteration, then wryly adds: ‘Diabolical.’ ‘Oh. I thought you liked this dress.’ ‘I did, dear. Past tense. It looked fabulous on you, when you still had the wonderful, waifish fig...
Weekly Contest #167
Now and then We’re sitting in the upstairs room at Camden Palace. The music up here’s ambient, low pulsing techno. Dim lights match the vibe. Our crowd’s managed to bag a couple of sofas wedged in a corner. Folk sprawl, taking a breather from the funky-frantic melee downstairs. I’m next to Millie, her head’s on my shoulder and the coconut of her shampoo cuts through the room's hum of sweat, cigarettes and spilled beer. ‘Where’ve you been?’ she asks. ‘Just . . .’ I can’t quite remember. Wandering. This place is a maze. An old theatre, a reli...
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