Winter has come early this year. At least in the mountains. It’s not unusual, but, I wouldn’t say it’s normal either. Anyway. We’ve had a long summer holiday here at the Post. Maybe too long some would say, but then again, we’ve been out traveling, both of us, Simon and myself. What can you do? Travel is the food of the soul they say, you know, Navigare Necessere Est, Vivere Non, so, what have you? (more…)
They come to see him nearly every day now, the emergency services. He’s my neighbour, and he doesn’t open the door. So they stand outside and knock and scream. I suppose they’re afraid he’s gonna die. They tell him to open the door, but he pretends he can’t hear them. I know. He’s told me. (more…)
This perfect stranger came to town the other day. Tall guy, short hair and a small mustache. Showed up at the office asking for Simon, but Simon was at home, tending the sick wife, or so he said, so it fell to me to take the stranger for a quick tour around town. That’s what he wanted, a quick look around. Said he’d heard so much about Kavli he couldn’t wait to see the stadium (more…)
Some people get to be ghosts, for a living, and making some cash too. The writers these are, the ghosters, whose voices channel through another person (more…)
So you thought we didn’t dance? Well, we do, like there’s no tomorrow. Kavli is practically the dancing equivalent to Las Vegas around here. Shoes are worn out faster here than a roll of the dice on your average table. (more…)
They play well. Very well, and they relax, mostly. Drink and chat and joke, adult jokes. The golf-men of our community. I’ve seen the odd wood thrown in despair, but not often. Almost never. (more…)
It’s a lovely morning, but nobody knows at the Internet Café. OK, maybe they know, but they don’t care. (more…)
