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The Last Days of Howard Hill by JS Apsley

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Barkeep Stevie recalls one of the more colourful characters that frequented his Glasgow pub in the 90s. Image generated with OpenAI Jim McQueen was one of the few people I ever met in whose company I was a willing bit-part player. He had charm; compassion. He was just so well-drawn. The three short years our paths crossed I gained a degree, I lost my Uncle Charlie, I met my wife. But whenever I was with Jim, he was the main character, and I was his sidekick. And what a wonderful time it was. Our triennium in the mid-nineties was spent tending bar in an honest-to-goodness Glasgow boozer where folk from all backgrounds would converge like a Venn Diagram. It was also the occasional locus of some rough and tumble. In fact, let's call the pub that, since I can't give you its real name. The Rough & Tumble. Jim had nicknames for most of the cast who were listed on the Rough & Tumble playbill. Some by what they drank, such as Jimmy Lager , Harry Heavy-Heid , and Vodka Joh...
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The Art of Being Mistaken by Victoria Daniela

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A ghostwriter is mistaken for a famous artist and gets a glimpse of a very different life. Photo by Jasmine Pang, from Pexels The bus is delayed again, but no problem, right? You can just take a cab. You call for one but even they said it might be delayed. So, you sit on the curb with your luggage, a blue suitcase with pink flowers standing next to you, just waiting for a ride home. Then a yellow cab approaches, a sweaty driver comes out, apologizes profusely, takes hold of your luggage and starts heaving it into the trunk. He yanks you off the curb, his other hand splayed across your back, leading you to the backseat of the cab, and apologizes more for the delay. You want to say, "Oh, it's alright! I wasn't waiting that long!" (you were waiting forever) but the words are stuck in your throat. "Alright," the cab driver huffs as he gets inside. "Off we go!" You smile your polite smile, your home address prepared in your mouth. But the cab begins ...
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The Widow by Eilish Burke

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Eimer attends the funeral of the man she had a secret relationship with for a decade. Image generated with OpenAI Eimer hesitates at the church door. She's walked through this door a hundred times, but today it feels impossible. It's not too late to turn back. Laura glances at her questioningly. "We don't have to go in," she whispers. "You could... send a card...?" They lock eyes. Eimer takes a breath and steps onto the carpet. Just one foot in front of the other, that's all she has to do. The church is packed with all the shades of black and grey and the occasional brave splash of colour. Hushed whispers reverberate along the polished pews. No one pays them any attention as they walk, falter, then walk again. Laura indicates an empty pew, so close to the door that it's almost outside, but Eimer nods, relieved, and they sink into the seats. Eimer joins her hands, squeezing them together until her knuckles turn white. A lump forms at the base of h...
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Cheiromancy by Caitlin A. Quinn

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In 19th century high society, a famous wit has his palm read by "Cheiro" Warner. Image generated with OpenAI William John "Cheiro" Warner held the American's hand in both of his own and felt the man's exhaustion. It pulsed in the air between them, a living, ragged thing, like the trees buffeted by the London rain outside. Warner leaned over the table for a closer look at the man's palm and heard the leather chair creak under the extra weight he had acquired - seemingly overnight - since his fortieth birthday. Studied the man's fingers. Long, ending in squared tips. The knuckles twisted by age and stained with faded ink. "You are an ambitious man," Warner told him. The American's bristling white mustache twitched. "That hardly counts as clairvoyance, Mr. Warner. More like newspaper reading." Warner ignored the jibe. He was used to skeptics. Hadn't the Prime Minister himself said something similar before returning for thre...
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Her Manhood by Hector Chavez

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A drag queen considers suicide after her best friend turns away from her, but life has some surprises in store. Image generated with OpenAI How would an expat Mexican drag queen camped out in Amsterdam end it all? In her best drag, as the shiniest fish in the North Sea, Desirée decides. She hops the empty bus, sits catty-corner from the driver, so she can flirt with him. Using her best Dutch accent, she asks the driver, "Aren't you gonna ask where am I going, all dressed up?" The man looks bleary in the blue dawn light. "I'm off to the beach, to a farewell party - you wanna come?" He shakes his head, "Too cold." When Desirée insists, the conductor begs off, tells her he has to work. "Me, I'm done for the night. You know how it goes: one minute you're on stage, next minute you're a has-been." The driver remains silent. The bus enters the tunnel and, briefly, they dip beneath the inlet to the North Sea. When the bus emer...
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Stretch Marks by Simone Martel

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A radio presenter on maternity leave unwittingly hires a carpenter on whom she had an adolescent crush many years ago. Image generated with OpenAI Pacing the living room with my baby on my shoulder, I glance out of the window and see an old man on the sidewalk grinning in at me and bobbing his head. I call the radio station while I stand with my back to the window, jiggling David. The intern answers. "I need a fence. I have no privacy in this house. How come I never knew that?" "Because you were here all day?" "I miss you guys. I miss my job." I catch myself in the mirror over the fireplace and turn to face the window again. The old man has shuffled past. "That carpenter who built your deck -" "He's an artist, too. Did I tell you? The famous artist-carpenter." "Just give me his number." A car passes in the street, and I make eye-contact with the driver. "I'm in a fishbowl here." I pencil the number on a r...
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