Chris Andrews

This line came to me out of the dark: suspiciously luminous gherkin. And then it was the promised iceberg, an intern with his neurohammer, midnight calm, a lake of tea, the south with its barbaric clusters of stars … None of it made much sense but I thought: If it’s all there is in the pantry, I can make the dark meal out of this.

My flame card is the key to the town. Fire...

A ten-minute Jesuit nap with shoes on releases the hypnagogic sentences mimicking the rhythms of sports commentary, morphing darkly into a story like this: In the sunless world where we’d arranged to meet everything’s lit from within and space has nerves that pass through your throat (if you slide along them like a curtain ring it will hurt the next day) but it turned out to be...