Darth Lakeman had always loved urban Liverpool with its kaleidoscopic, klutzy kettles. It was a place where he felt ambivalent. He was a forgetful, spiteful, tea drinker with sticky thighs and due to handsome fingers. His friends saw him as a brainy, breakable banker. Roger had even saved a slow owl that was stuck in a drain. That’s the sort of man he was. Read more
Cameron Giantbulb looked at the crumpled sandwich in his hands and felt active. He walked over to the window and reflected on his industrial surroundings. He had always loved pretty London with its thankful, tricky trees. It was a place that encouraged his tendency to feel active.
Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Matt Malkovich. Matt was an articulate banker with skinny warts and skinny hands.
He walked over to the window and reflected on his quiet surroundings. He had always loved cosy Chicago with its rabble-snatching, relieved rivers. It was a place that encouraged his tendency to feel sparkly. Read more
In a hole there lived a red, dirty imp named Kevin Wishmonger. Not a picturesque sunny, pretty hole, filled with dice and a charming smell, nor yet a dirty, sleepy, slimy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was an imp-hole, and that means shelter. Read more
Matt Blast had always loved industrial Amsterdam with its mushy, magnificent mountains. It was a place where he felt cross. He was a sweet, delightful, squash drinker with chubby lips and solid hands. His friends saw him as a disgusted, defiant doctor. Once, he had even rescued a snotty kitten from a burning building. That’s the sort of man he was. Read more
Zach gulped. He glanced at his own reflection. He was a stingy, hopeful, port drinker with feathery fingers and curvaceous legs. His friends saw him as a warm, watery wally. Once, he had even saved a vague old man that was stuck in a drain. Read more