"They found Glen’s body washed up on the rocks late August. He laid, slumped and face up, on the river bank with motionless eyes on the sun, as if he had found a hole in the distant star, his lips slightly ajar at some fathoming of discovery. Two men pulled his stiffening corpse out of the water, dragging it to shore before unrolling a white blanket and covering him from his pale, sunken face down to the boot cut of his jeans. The last glimpse I had were the toes of his shoes pointing up, poking out from under the white fabric. Then the coroner arrived and loaded his body out of sight, Glen’s remains slipping into the darkness of the white van."

Playlist for a work in progress story. Cold, distant, drowned.

12 tracks