'Do you ever examine the gullies of the English countryside? Under the twigs, under the dead leaves, you'll find tennis balls, blackened. Girls threw them for their dogs, or children, for each other, they rolled into the gully. They are lost there, given up for dead, centuries old.' Harold Pinter, No Man's Land.

Midnight Movies

They come in off the streetwith the clammy heat of city storms.Nearly men, chancers, clones,mostly vile. Clothes smeared with cocktail cherries, a smellof pickle brine and cordite.One thumbnail painted blue,ponytails, though they’re mostly bald. The glimmer of a fake horizonworks at their back, day for night,hotdog flesh, a painted skybut the stars are only pricks … Continue reading Midnight Movies