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by Richard Alexander
Some mornings he just sits sipping coffee, staring out the first floor window which overlooks the municipal park.
No radio. No laptop. No paperback. No distractions.
An A4 pad of lined yellow legal paper and a biro.
These are the mornings in which he is most productive. His mind bending slits of cloud into the debris of toppled smokestacks. That crooked tree branch the half-severed arm of a saint. The lady with the duffle coat a confidence trickster. The man in the grey suit and the thinning hairline a taxidermy fetishist with a mistress in every country from here all the way to Timbuktu.
Richard Alexander studied creative writing at Winchester University and has been writing (mostly for himself) ever since. He is currently completing work on his first novel but enjoys experimenting with shorter variations of prose when time allows. He lives in Norwich, UK, with his wife, son and two cats.
Tony Acarasiddhi Press said:
Ah, the writer’s perch. Nicely done!