John Tranter

The movement slows: everything grows dark. A man checks the knot in his tie. It’s twilight and a fine rain smears the windows. Will you miss your train, and the delightful party?

A man checks the knot in his tie. It’s twilight; superhuman powers will never be yours. You will miss your train, and the delightful party. They argue about civil rights. At the check-out

superhuman...

The door slides shut with a hiss and it seems we’re moving out     falteringly at first, the brick     flats tilting then     reluctantly shifting aside. We’re starting a long journey with half the plot,

some of the story, nothing to worry about and hardly a clue.     Now a canal’s rotating...

Flying up a valley in the Alps where the rock rushes past like a broken diorama I’m struck by an acute feeling of precision – the way the wing-tips flex, just a little as the German crew adjust the tilt of the sky and bank us all into a minor course correction while the turbo-props gulp at the mist with their old-fashioned thirsty thunder – or you notice how the hostess,...

You press the bakelite button, and wait, and wait. Presently the lift rattles down to the ground floor, and the attendant passes you something through the brass grille.

The chlorine sifts down through the water, turning pastel blue. That woman floating fifteen feet above the floor of the pool – she’s taking medication for weight loss a cheapskate pharmaceutical that stretches and...