When We Were Tigers – Jimmi Campkin

Under a piece of tarpaulin, draped inelegantly over a pair of upturned shopping trolleys, we listen to the patter of the rain above us, a pool developing over our shoulders.  The damp seeps into our shoes and clothes, our hair is lank and clotted with wet dust. She pops another codeine between chapped white lips …

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Quarry – Jimmi Campkin

I’ve been sitting on this icy stone for half an hour watching her swill the endless whisky miniatures, produced from her pocket, around her ulcer pocked mouth.  She hisses at the weak sun, and in the cold our breath mingles like clouds colliding before a storm. The sky is barely lit; just a candle covered …

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For The Love Of The System – Jimmi Campkin

It only takes the sound of glass breaking to remind me of the taste; wet concrete and burned rust.  Last week I sat in a bar facing a drizzly street and stared at my own reflection for hours as humanity shuffled by.  The gangly barman, who’d been hopelessly flirting with his co-worker, dropped 125mls of …

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