Issue 15 of From Glasgow to Saturn is online now - I suggest starting off by reading
Generic Love Story
Remember this. It is darkling in my mind. The moon is a full and dazzling yolk-yellow in the cloudless sky and all of the little attendant stars seem to twinkle brighter in reply. Like pieces of glass sparkling on a black road - in the startling beam from a single unbroken headlight - in the stunned moments of silence after a terrible accident. No. Forget that part.
It is a warm night with a cool breeze, and my body responds gratefully to the almost Mediterranean perfection of the temperature and humidity. And all of this little world is very quiet – hush – save for the gentle hiss of the sea – hush – washing up gently on the shore – hush - in the darkness just beyond us - hush. We can imagine the blanket of foam sending delicate silvery tendrils of dwindling strength up the dark sand of the shore, yearning for our bodies. Then a long intake of breath as it retreats back into the sea. Then another quiet sigh.
Laura, you and I are in the hollow cup of a shallow dune, sheltered from the rawer breeze rolling in off the sea. Perhaps I have just made a trivial remark – say, that it feels as though we have landed in a crater on some wonderful, warm moon – but now I am watching you talk. You are telling the story that I love, the one about your sister and the yellow wellington boots. You are lying on one side, your head propped up by your right arm (your left hand lies delicately upon my chest), speaking quietly and looking down into my eyes. Your long dark hair falls down around your supporting hand, through your fingers, showing in relief against the pale skin of your arm like a haphazard art nouveau pattern. The very slight breeze moves your hair softly against your wrist and forearm. It must be tickling you a little.
Read the rest of the story here.
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