There was a man on the doorstep, all leatherette shoes and easy iron trousers. When I say doorstep I mean the pavement between the threshold and the hazard lines of a busy junction.His head, too big ... [+]
if you concentratehard enough, sometimesthe fourth wall breaks—fading just a momentto darkened hallslive audience hangingonto every wordlips red for stageyour favourite shirta scratchy costume crew adjusting lensesbright lights, microphoneslooming overheaddirector sipping coffeewriters angrily squabblingover words you thoughtcame from your heart ersatz onions floating in the pota man who only pretendsto love you; a stranger'sthoughts in your minddistracted byiPhone buzzingagainst your/their thigh— then backin the privacyof your little kitchen nothing in your pocketheartbroken husbandgrasping f