IlNero's profile

Tilly Bee tried to whistle as she walked along. Behind her, the wagon rattled over the cobbled road. A handsome contraption, Tilly hobbled it together last year in her father's workshop. The bed and sides were planks of thorny oak, common enough, but the wheels were fashioned out of iron and duckwood, neither of which were common or cheap. She had already finished shaping, polishing and fitting the thing together when she was discovered by her mother. Tilly had certainly caught a streak of bl...

"So, what do ya say, ah? You wanna go down by the quarry with us or what?" Fancy Mick licked his comb, then ran it back through his greased and arranged and carefully layered red hair. He was wearing a black tee shirt which strained over his swollen muscles, tight pegged jeans, motorcycle boots which creaked on the tile floor. His slight paunch hung over the big buckled belt, GOD'S OWN in big metal letters fastening the studded leather. A pack of unfiltered camels was rolled into one sleeve. ...

A dozen men sat behind the factory and smoked. It was a hot morning, and the sun beat down upon them, the burning gaze of a disgusted God. There were no cars. There were no children. The men sat on the pavement and on milk crates, their boots shiny and creaky black, unused and never worn before that very morning. Their jeans still had creases from the store shelves, some men still had a sticker or tag on an unnoticed back of the leg or ass cheek. Their shirts were bright and smelled of freshn...