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Baked Alaska,
Debby Crombie was already stroking his groin. “Nothing wee about this nipper, Thomas William Yew.” Debby Crombie unpeeled Tom Yew’s Harley-Davidson T-shirt and flung it away. His back’s glazed and muscly like Action Man’s. He’s got a blue swordfish tattooed on one shoulder. She squirmed out of her unbuttoned lavender dress. If Dawn Madden’s breasts were a pair of Danishes, Debby Crombie’s got two Space Hoppers. Each armed with a gribbly nipple. Tom Yew kissed them in turn and his saliva glistened in the April sun. I know watching was wrong but I couldn’t not. Tom Yew slipped off her red
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I had one of those odd moments when now isn’t now.
it’d gone
The world unmakes stuff faster than people can make it.
The wind riffled the ten thousand pages of the oak tree.
Magnets don’t need to understand magnetism.
Melanie Pickett was half right. I don’t know whether or not I know the facts of life. You can’t ask adults ’cause you can’t ask adults. You can’t ask kids ’cause it’d be all round school by first
break. So either everybody knows everything but nobody’s saying anything, or else nobody knows anything and girlfriends just sort of … happen.
Not even cold milk was so smooth.
pit needs,
A sick bus growled past and made the air taste of pencils.
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