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Tag Archives: Christy Hall
Northern line, leafy-sub – Hampstead; the station here has lifts, a moment, not even that, during which I might have hooked a finger through your loose jean loop, or pulled a face or two. Then to blow your baby hair, … Continue reading
An Oregon bonfire feels like no other when it’s down on the beach in the dark. Stillness to the air, like the redwood forests further south. Back there, at the border: grazing elk groups, poles-totemed, busts of bigfoot. The Sequoia … Continue reading
Soon enough, in a matter of days, you will be gone. Everything about everything that has happened between us has built up to this – these last days. For now, I can feel you moving through the same streets that … Continue reading
Checkpoints are toll bridges, underpasses are points of reference and pillars of memory; played out over the soundtrack of pop/rock on a clapped-out tape deck. Street signs, miles and miles, are nostalgic; place-names as ex-girlfriends, flash past: Lincoln, Peterborough, Cambridge, … Continue reading