short story
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He turned out the light, lit a cigarette, and watched the street. The building opposite darkened. He developed his idea that behind one of its windows sat another, hidden observer. Usually, this would have thrilled him. He didn’t like to close his curtains, preferring the implied invitation of a nighttime room, lit or unlit, revealed…
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‘What do you think I’m looking for, Steven?’ she said. She turned to face him. ‘Do you think I’ll find it spending my nights at Junk? Don’t worry, I’m just thinking out loud. Unless you have any answers.’ He said nothing. ‘Let’s go and get some air,’ she said, and in a few minutes she…
Barry Lee Thompson 