Apologies in advance my dear reader. This is a poorly-organised, selfish essay written by me, (mostly) for me as I try to unsatisfactorily explain why
I love airports. I think that’s partly because I love stories, and airports are so dense with stories you can feel them from a distance.
It was Christmas. It was wartime. The soldiers were far from home, defending a patch of land that wasn’t quite theirs in the name of
At your doorstep is a man who isn’t. Because he isn’t, he cannot knock on your door. You were not staring at the ceiling in
Rob sighed as he stood up, hearing his joints creak. He was getting too old for this, he thought, maybe he should look into some