Archives | Andy Hawthorne

John Croft is sixty-one years old. The old guy. And the office is dead. Proper dead. Used to be you’d walk in, Derek’d have a...

—You’re fine then, Fletch. —Er, what? —Nothing. She was stirring her tea slowly. He was watching her stir it. —Jess. —What? —Hmm? Oh, nothing. The...

John pushed the broom along the kerb. The girl was watching him. —What’s your name? she said. He kept sweeping. Don’t talk to her. —I’m...

I’m here writing like I’m not allowed to stop. But that’s okay. Not a bother. Because I don’t want to stop, see? That’s not how...

A woman stands at a sink. The water is running. She has been standing there for some time. There was nothing to look at. The...

He hadn’t expected to laugh today. But laugh he did, and it was bloody great. Because he was laughing as he wrote. Amazing. He knew....