2nd Year – Life Writing – Writing from the Margins

Three in a Café

He sits hunched, the crown of his skull as devoid of hair as his jaw. He sits and scribbles. Sometimes his pens scratches wildly, tearing

The Raisin gathers sweat from my fingertips They are greasy now. The dead relative of the grapes in my ruck sack; excreting final fluids onto

Sitting in a train station; waiting for a train. The walls are white, the ground is cold and stone. The Sun shines, winter warm, outside.

Café – 3 people. 10am 24/09/2015 Person Number 1 who has no name for those of us who watch in the café’s cannot assign names,

Taking things out of context makes them difficult to understand, but I wonder if its ever possible to get the entirety of context without actually

A Storm Beneath the Clouds I gaze down upon the untouched landscape beneath me. Uncorrupted, desolate and beautiful. I rest my tired legs and attempt

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