7 July 1982, 19:36 PM I take a swig from the flask in my hand—it’s scotch, a Glen Orchy, and the liquid roughly scorches my throat as it slides down, almost like swallowing the embers left behind a bonfire’s raging flames—as I lounge against the steps of the Victoria Memorial. Despite the edges of myContinue reading “Fiction: An Audience with the Queen”
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This Is Adam's World 