Bard, Barbing or Barb Jester’s watering the pelargoniums in the beer garden when Petey and me fetch up, so we go behind the bar and pull a pint apiece. Yobbers is next along, and swipe me to Saturday if he don’t have his arm in plaster. “What the hell happened?” Petey asks. Yobbers sits down and plonks his cast on the table. “Remember I told you we’d to cart a suit of armour out of the tower at Monk Bar?” Yobbers’ un
Robert Shapard on flash fiction. http://www.worldliteraturetoday.org/2012/september/remarkable-reinvention-very-short-fiction-robert-shapard#.UK_xlYVTs7A I usually compare the novel to a mammal, be it wild as a tiger or tame as a cow; the short story to a bird or a fish; the micro story to an insect (iridescent in the best cases).