Maria Majsa Pakuranga, Auckland 1967 There is a radio in a brown leather case on the bench. My mother turns it on during the day when my father has left for work and the house feels different.
Maria Majsa University of London Union, Malet Street, WC1, 1986 He smiled, stared at his shoes and said Hello. He looked so pale and young. I said Hi in a voice I didn’t recognise.
Maria Majsa Auckland, New Zealand, early 1970s Western Springs College, Auckland 2012 Inheritances run in families like a seam through generations; swallowed hopes and ambitions which sometimes find their full expression decades later.
Maria Majsa The Marquee, Wardour Street, London 1984 I headed for the place I’d seen him last, but all I found was blood on the floor. People had scrambled through it leaving sticky prints in every direction, like a contaminated crime scene.
Maria Majsa London, 1985 I used to go for rides with a friend who was a fellow Smiths fan. We stopped at a riverside pub called The Old Ship to order drinks and compare favourite lines and I fell momentarily in love with him.