He left the room and the gallery phase-shifted into a coloured blur. He couldn’t find Fiona. Time slowed down and rushed past him as he looked around the vast gallery space, trying to spot her, until at last he decided to look outside and the rain began. Disparate thick drops at first, the earthy petrichor making his nose twitch, and then a heavy downpour that stung his face and brought his hair down like a curtain falling at the end of a play. Steam rose from the road in the rain’s aftermath, its ghostly vapours following him home.

 

Transportation Press will soon be announcing our publishing program for 2018-2019. In the meantime, we are posting anonymous quotes from novels we like. The first person to pick the novel will receive a free copy of one of our publications. Drop us a line.

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