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Author on Reedsy Prompts since Nov, 2021
Submitted to Contest #119
He used to listen to Breakfast with Clive for an hour in the morning before flicking through the local paper, its corners speckled with sea spray and beginning to curl. Now he sits by the front door, waiting for the white and black to shoot through the letterbox and onto his stained cinnamon carpet. Sometimes thirty minutes, other times five. On days when the waves are tall and the windows leak, it may never arrive. A phantom rag. The analogue radio hasn’t moved. On the kitchen counter it chokes on dust, snug between the bread bin and t...
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