Calling at: Pharmacy, Florist, and Off-Licence only

Looking into a crowded London subway train.Strange to go against the flow, to squeeze through bodies hell-bent on bagging seats aboard a train going nowhere. Mad to abandon scores of sweaty commuters for-fuck’s-saking in stifling carriages. Peculiar to say ‘I forgive you,’ without asking what ‘technically it wasn’t adultery’ means. Bizarre to move on in mindless circles, like these new-bloody-fangled trains. Odd that Viagra ads plastered along your route will snap you out of it. Demented to abandon your 30-year career mid-shift, your engine running hot. Ludicrous to be clattering down Marchmont Street towards your unsuspecting spouse—pills, peonies, and vino swinging wildly at your side.


Lucy Goldring lives in Bristol, UK. She’s been shortlisted by the National Flash Fiction Day three times and has many small stories online. Tweets @livingallover.

Photo Credit: Stefan Klocek

2 Responses to “Calling at: Pharmacy, Florist, and Off-Licence only”

  1. Thanks so much, Carrie! Glad you enjoyed it and that the momentum came through. Lucy

  2. Carrie Kartman says:

    Fabulous, and dare I say filled with momentum and tumbling to its finish.

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