
Swings by Kate Jones
The little girl on the swing looks sad. Her mother is speaking into a ‘phone, its blue glow lighting up her drawn-in eyebrows and cheap mascara. She’s gesturing wildly with…
The little girl on the swing looks sad. Her mother is speaking into a ‘phone, its blue glow lighting up her drawn-in eyebrows and cheap mascara. She’s gesturing wildly with…
We have the same eyes. Kind of peanut-shaped and poked quite far into our heads. It’s one of my favourite nearly-identical things about us. Mum says Lou’s are hazel. Mine…
A stubborn man wearing cartoonish golf shorts walked down a concrete path that ran parallel to a river that’s only a river by name. It’s not the lyrical Ohio or…