 | ‘Of course, all writers are impotent,’ says Marta, smiling at the waiter in the mirror and holding up two slender fingers for a couple more cappuccinos.  | |
 | He stands at the end of the platform, an unfamiliar face. Confused, her eyes search for the unsmiling Asian man and over-aged Goth they’re accustomed to, until she realises she is taking an early train. | |
 | My roommate, Hippy Tim, had a habit of bringing home strays met on his nightly walks through the decaying urban dreamscape… |
Pulp.net - Fiction
The Online Home of New Fiction
November 2008
