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The Story.

I don’t know what I’m supposed to put here.

I don’t know how to make these appear in reverse order.

Year Five: A Poetic Reunification

Father’s emancipation brought a new energy to him, but did not completely rid him of the harm that hard labour had inflicted. Once free of his shackles, he committed dutifully to parole conditions that insisted he remain within yelling distance of Scotland Yard. Each morning he was required to wake at 7am and scream “WHITLOCKContinue reading “Year Five: A Poetic Reunification”



I remember passing out of the womb like a bus from a terminal – quite late – and greeting the midwife with a firm handshake. “Good show,” I praised her. She laughed a great, hearty laugh and together we spent my first evening sipping Prosecco out of a beaked cup, while she drunkenly explained whyContinue reading “Preface”

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