#Nifty gay stories symbiosis full#
Lights on full blast, curtains open, a man in his early thirties sits on his sofa tearing feverishly into a cardboard wine box. It’s got dark enough now to see into the window of the apartment opposite me. She seems to resent the ball with each violent kick away, but then changes her mind and realises she can’t live without it. The ball shoots ahead, and each time she seems to panic and rushes towards it, as if scared it might disappear forever. Haunted, empty. At her feet she kicks a child’s small plastic football ahead of her, her long and jagged uncut toenails almost puncturing the rainbow coloured ball with each jab. Even when I cross her field of vision sitting on my step she looks right through me. She’s always wrapped in a grey shawl, eyes vacant staring into the long-distance sweeping from left to right like a lighthouse beam.
Despite this he waits leaning on his little wooden gate, a final act of defiance, refusing to accept that whatever or whoever he’s expecting have long since gone, never to return in this lifetime.Īcross the street I watch the large black woman walk round in circles in her small concrete yard. Each day, come rain or shine he waits outside his house, motionless, shoulders hunched, head down as if the weight of his life and loneliness has physically crushed him from above. He looks like an emaciated Father Christmas waiting hopelessly for his stolen reindeer to return. The music acts as a counterpoint to the distant sound of police sirens wailing and overlapping each other in the gathering dusk – an urban whale song.Ī few houses to my left I can see the old man dressed as always in a too small sailor hat, white beard and corduroy trousers which end above the ankle. Hackney Dusk: “This is the gun that shot Gandhi.”ĭusk sitting on my step smoking a cigarette in a typical London backstreet on a typical Summer evening. On the corner, where my road meets the High Street, the Eastern European accordion player recites a Balkan melody, pausing each time he hits a bum note to repeat, over and over again. His fingertips are bruised purple by the endless playing, fingernails ripped and pitted, at his feet a McDonald’s Styrofoam coffee cup to optimistically try to catch any passing coin. The story of one man’s dark and lonely three year journey so far up his own ass that he arrived out his mouth to recount the tale to a deaf world. “MOLEHOLE” – Essays on the Human Condition. A travelogue from East to West Coast USA. “DIFFERENT STATES” – One Man, One Credit Card, One Continent… No Plan. “BUM NOTES” – A collection of eighteen original and diverse short stories: “SPRINGBOARDS” – A further collection of original short stories, short scripts and feature screenplays. All books are available online, in all reputable books stores, E-books… and no doubt soon, all local Charity Shops.
#Nifty gay stories symbiosis free#
Please feel free to leave feedback both good and bad – as Plato once said – the worst thing is to just be ignored!Įven better however, would be if you could find your way to actually purchasing one of my published books using the links below, that way I may continue to dodge bullets and bailiffs with your help.
On this site you’ll find a collection of my short stories and screenplays for your enjoyment. Hey there, and many thanks for stopping by. The Future Christmas Baby Insurance Policy.A Brief History of Humanity from Year 6041.Hackney Dusk: “This is the gun that shot Gandhi.”.Michael G Zealey – Books available online and in bookstores now! 2015.