Joke’s On You

by Stephen Pain

Originally published on May 1, 1999

here is smut, here is racism, the bluest of blue jokes, the most tasteless, vile form of humor, known, and he pokes it with his tongue, teases it and one can hear some of the words, but they are indistinct like the radios used by the french resistance, full of innuendos, you hear the fucks, [...]

Fleurs du Mall

by Stephen Pain

Originally published on November 1, 1998

she hung about the mall, her loose socks like dandelion clocks, except she didn’t know how to tell the time, she was fifteen, turned to crime, she wore a touch-me-not school uniform that would entice any fool, any salariman. A “little whore”, a venus flytrap that knew how to display her sundew on the Japanese [...]

Deadlines

by Stephen Pain

Originally published on August 1, 1998

A deadline is what he used to see on the Northumbrian coastline, in among the marine skipping rope that stretched between the mud and the sea, where those creatures had all but given up hope of surviving, and they now in their broken forms, skipped the slaps of the incoming tide, the gulls who had [...]

The Dentist

by Stephen Pain

Originally published on July 1, 1998

“You can rinse now.” He lost count of how many times he had said this to patients, but no matter the number, he got a vicarious pleasure from the smile of relief on their faces. If only there was such a phrase for his life, if only there was another dentist, perhaps a God, who [...]

Autumn Wind

by Stephen Pain

Originally published on May 1, 1998

Autumn was opened up like a kakemono, first one tree, then another, people holding umbrellas, holding hats, as the wind blew across the paper. Share the Love:Bookmark on DeliciousDigg this postRecommend on Facebookshare via RedditShare with StumblersTweet about itTell a friend