The sun crept over the horizon as Danny Noonan continued to have sex with Tammy Hayes. His heart beat faster with each thrust . . .
Tag: Mondays Are Murder
A liquid light cleanses the air, splashes mirrors across the passing car windows. Here she comes, obesity incarnate, à la Samantha, trudging along oblivious to the sun puddles on the sidewalk . . .
It all started with that damned umbrella . . .
Her message said eight and so I was there eight sharp like a good little lapdog. Marla had a way of reaching inside of me and ripping out my backbone . . .
It had been two years since I had a drink, and life was looking up. I was in Cuernavaca, Mexico, taking care of my grandfather. . .
It hadn’t been half an hour since they settled in when Winston started up . . .
The sun is only just getting tired, sliding itself down behind the row of houses on the other side of Missouri. The sky is gray and restless. “Might be one of them derechos tonight . . .”
Every South London borough has a murder mile. A stab alley. A no-man’s land patrolled by kids steeled with knives . . .
Featured: Black Interest
- John Crow’s Devil
- Kingston Noir (Jamaica)
- I Love You Too
- Jesus Boy
- Anna In-Between
- Iron Balloons: Hit Fiction From Jamaica’s Calabash Writer’s Workshop
- Gomer’s Song
- Abstraktion und Einfühlung
- New Worlds, Old Ways: Speculative Tales from the Caribbean
- Coming Up Hot: Eight New Poets from the Caribbean