‘Balls flew towards the beach or into dense jungle. Enthusiastic young fielders tumbled head over heels in the morning glories. Village elders, large, heavy-breasted, critical men, lay in the shade on cushions discussing the course of play like contented sea lions on their favourite rocks.’
‘Kirikiti, kirikiti … Come, come! … Quicklee!’
‘Well, into the car then.’
But young Fili, digger of taro, hewer of coconuts, wasn’t in that much of a hurry to watch his father Tolu playing cricket. We had only driven a short way before he began to pummel my shoulder in a well-meaning way and begged me to stop.
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‘The anglophone world, we have to infer, has run out of words for its own feelings.’
Daisy Hildyard on the wisdom of scarecrows.
‘What is the read receipt for?’
Lillian Fishman on texting, power and the ethics of leaving a friend on read.
‘Like pretty much everyone who uses the internet, I have seen many terrible things that I did not search for and that I cannot unsee.’
Rosanna McLaughlin on what the internet thinks she wants.
‘I have a pathological addiction to the internet, which I indulge with the excuse of making art. It rarely translates to anything good and mostly leaves me overstimulated and afraid.’
Paul Dalla Rosa on excess and the internet.
‘rumors of bees on speedwell, / no oxidative stress just / effortless pollination’
Two poems by Sylvia Legris.
‘If Wales win tonight, everything will turn out okay.’
Thomas Morris on football, family and financial precarity.
A letter to footballer Justin Fashanu – excerpted from Isabel Waidner’s novel Sterling Karat Gold.
‘That was the big news: Tani’s grandson was debuting.’
Fiction by Diego Zúñiga, translated by Megan McDowell.
‘In the place where I grew up there were horses, thighs moving like nudity under their fur’
‘You’re gonna want to go down the other side of the mountain and check out the Facility. Don’t do it.’
‘Another man dithering around six foot two had recently moved in.’
A story by Holly Pester, author of Comic Timing.
