Brendan McLoughlin

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After the Storm

They are coming tonight, the men without names, and we can do nothing but bolt the iron door to our apartment and wait. ‘They will choose the thirtieth floor th...
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Where the Crab Grass Grows

You walk under a pink sky, wisps of cloud are strewn through the air so finely like pieces of candyfloss, that they are almost not there at all. The sand feels ...