Bethany Cherry15 February 2018
The living room looked out over Elgin Street. Her flat was flanked by an Indian restaurant and a car park. The boobs the chalk were referencing could only be hers. She flung open the window and leant out, as if the scent of the chalk writer still hung on the air and she could sniff them out.
Shakespeare looked at his laptop. He shifted uncomfortably and read once more the task he had to end: to write 15 lines of poetry for his creative writing subject. He hadn’t written much; he was sort of gazing at the wall and remarking how pale and white it was. He looked back at his screen to read what he’d writ. From. An excellent word for an hour of work.
where trichor flown from bitten tongue lands
emnous remnants a toothsome luxury
cthonia induced by friend nor foe alike;
Orange painted sunsets and
a depth of grey,
A canvas of molten
Sigh of smoke spilling
from her lips;
Mi Goreng—the saviour of every university student. I first discovered this versatile dish after a friend gave me 12 packets. While she’s since moved on to bigger, better and presumably healthier things, Mi Goreng has become a staple in my pantry.
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