From Daily Life
The greyhound bus stops at an abandoned gas station and I get out. I feel quite excited; this is my first visit to the Potato State, Idaho, to this small town, chosen randomly on a map. Today will be a day of adventure, discovery. A very different sort...
I leave the bus in Thunder Bay, determined to see what’s left of the past in this city once called Prince Arthur's Landing — its name was changed because some felt the word “Landing” was down-market, implied a temporary arrival place for poor immigrants....
“When the Russian Air Force had bases here in Hungary, those were good times,” said Tarzan, a hugely fat man with long, drooping moustaches and the over-developed biceps that gained him his nickname. “You could get anything by trading in those days, schnapps...
In the bar of the night train, two men at the table next to mine, a brash extrovert and his walrus-moustached straight man, are speaking a language that is, for me, indefinable. Perhaps they notice me observing them? “Come. Join us!” shouts the extrovert...
Sunday, July 24th I DECIDED TO MAKE an effort, conform to the public idea of fun, join those who lie on the beach, who paddle about in the greyish sea. Perhaps it would be a gratifying experience. Doesn’t everyone claim such activities are pleasurable?...
First Published on Mookychick, February, 2018 First Published on Mooky Chick 24, February 2018 https://www.mookychick.co.uk/opinion/your-fiction/never-going-back-short-story-jill-culiner.php First Published on Mooky Chick 24, February 2018 https://www.mookychick.co.uk/opinion/your-fiction/never-going-back-short-story-jill-culiner.php...
It was that time of the night when dreams of the unattainable — a warm room, a bed, crisp, clean sheets, a heavy quilt — become obsessional. We, dejected travellers, sat on uncomfortable plastic chairs surrounding plastic tables covered with plastic tablecloths...
It was a dreary, dusty Turkish town a few miles from the sea, surrounded by exquisite fjords that make Norway look a trifle dull. I took up residence in the only hotel willing to accept a woman — there were two of them, grubby places where sheets were...
Roland — he sold bad paintings, crucifixes and clocks at the Dasing flea market — invited me to the greasy spoon just across the parking lot to have a coffee. He also encouraged me to have a piece of cake. “Why not live it up.” “I don’t really like sweet...
Across the aisle and one seat ahead, a woman, dressed in a ridiculously frilly yet provocatively sexy outfit, is reading a romance. She hasn’t hidden it between the pages of The New Yorker or some sophisticated tome. No, she’s quite open about her tastes....