A5, 24 pages, Risograph printed, Saddle stitch, Softcover, 2020

“I sat out one evening in the dreadful old wicker chair on the veranda eating honey straight from the jar and thinking about the bird and whether I should draw a picture of him in charcoal or whether I should just stay scooping honey into my mouth like a bear would do, with little sprays of rain and the summer smell buffeting onto my face. By turns I tasted bitterness on my tongue and I looked at my hand and noticed the palm was stained with dark green streaks. A memory came to me then. A memory from earlier that day. Myself, in the kitchen, staring at the spot on the floor where I’d seen the bird, squeezing a penny so tightly inside my fist that copper is getting all over my fingers.”

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