Tag Archives: microfiction

From the memoirs of an addict II

Posted on May 19, 2020 by James Steerforth

In the late eighties I was addicted to crime novels, basically of any style – police procedure, noir, hard-boilt, single shamus, animal detectives, stuffy British, you name it. Even though I usually had plenty of work as a language traitor, … Continue reading →

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Striptease

Posted on March 25, 2019 by James Steerforth

I swear to God I didn’t want to go. My mother told me that those things are sinful and play on the desires of the flesh. I really didn’t want to go. But the guys in my department said don’t … Continue reading →

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You can be damn sure

Posted on March 18, 2019 by James Steerforth

it’s going to be a slow movie if the hero takes about ten minutes to enter the place, drag his feet across the floor turtle-like and sit down on the sofa sloth-like, eventually putting his mustachioed head in his hands. … Continue reading →

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Trans Europe Express

Posted on February 3, 2019 by James Steerforth

I boarded the train in X. Smoking was much more common in those days. In France, in particular, some people would smoke even in nonsmoking compartments. Even though I had a seat reservation, I changed compartments after two men, who … Continue reading →

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Happy ending

Posted on December 9, 2017 by James Steerforth

That’s what YOU call a happy ending: you plundered our joint bank account, maxed out our credit cards and ran off with the Austrian masseur who looks like Arnold reborn and is twenty-eight years younger than you. While I’m home … Continue reading →

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I could definitely like that cutie

Posted on March 3, 2017 by James Steerforth

“Hey!” A short-haired blonde with freckles and a turned-up nose had come to a stop to let her Labrador or whatever that big black thing was take a dump at my entrance. “Yes?” “Better clean that up!” A mischievous nod … Continue reading →

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The target

Posted on December 1, 2016 by James Steerforth

“Target is crossing street. Following.” “Love that swaying little ass of hers.” “Shut up, Jeremy.” “Wonder what she’s done that we’re going after her.” “Target keeps looking back, seems nervous.” “Reminds me of Diana. Lady Di.” “Don’t need your puerile … Continue reading →

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Red metal drawer

Posted on November 11, 2015 by James Steerforth

I was a black politician, and even though I was popular among a lot of people I also had a bunch of enemies. I knew this, and I also knew that it was for the usual reasons of envy, racism, … Continue reading →

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Circles are round

Posted on May 29, 2015 by James Steerforth

“But I said that first!” “Yes, possibly. I don’t recall.” “You damn well know it’s the truth.” “Possibly. But that doesn’t change the fact that it made me famous, not you, and that I’ll always be remembered for saying it.” … Continue reading →

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There they were, sincere businessmen

Posted on March 17, 2015 by James Steerforth

There they were, sincere businessmen, these uncles of mine, sitting around a table in that yellowed 1950s-style office, smoking their cigars and making decisions about me. “He does an OK job,” Otto said. “Usually,” Ernest qualified. “But his tools are … Continue reading →

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Iridescent Amazons on Mars

Posted on April 5, 2014 by James Steerforth

The problem with these new ones is that you can’t slay them. They send out such a glare that they’re upon you before you know where to aim your PAIL*. It’s happened to me (I’m reporting from the nether world). … Continue reading →

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At a Roman bar, Tuesday morning

Posted on February 11, 2014 by James Steerforth

Hair washed and combed today, new shirt and pants, first time since Anna left. But still that downcast hostile glare at the world, caffè corretto and not a word except for ciao grazie. – James Steerforth (© 2014) 33 words … Continue reading →

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