Wednesday, 26 October 2016



The streets were empty; the wind was swaying like a drunk; the postbox was kipping on a wall in the shadows under a streetlamp. The moon was yawning, with no lovers to inspire; politics was blowing down the street, fluttering in dark corners; a cat, once famous among the trees, lingered in the bush. The TV’s had all gone home, leaving the licence on the floor…….

Text by Trev Teasdel

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