Spring Cleaning
I step into her house and am immediatly handed a binbag.
“Take this to the van,” I am told. “It’s going to the Tip.”
I don’t look at the cold, impassive face that studies mine. Instead, I untie the knot in the bag and look inside.
And find my childhood.
By Alexander J. Cunningham
In The Flesh
It was in a café that we eventually met.
All those hastily scribbled notes between strangers and now she was here. In the flesh.
She was sipping coffee as I approached. She looked up, eyes unreadable. I told her who I was. She nodded, gesturing to the chair beside her.
By Alexander J. Cunningham
The Secret
“You’re being very secretive,” she stated.
She was fishing. Looking for Intel.
“Maybe,” I answered.
“Maybe, I’m right?” she asked. “Or, maybe you’re being secretive?”
I’d have answered, but my mobile began ringing. I looked at the caller ID, then said: “I need to take this,” And left the room.
By Alexander J. Cunningham
