by Andrew Papworth | Apr 26, 2009 | Poetry
The dark and swirling black cloud fills the sky with its noxious fumes, Its caustic form stings eyes and darkens minds, We arrived in expectance, Hoping that our stand would weather the onslaught, Yet we leave defeated, And seem unable to find our place in this new...
by Andrew Papworth | Apr 26, 2009 | Stories
The night here is hot, stuffy and continuous: ever present rather than surprising, and brutal rather than clever or deceitful. It wallows through the street onto the buses, and between the gaps in the buildings, and through bedrooms and bars. Its soundtrack is the...
