Shredded Pork
You go to work. At lunchtime you're ravenous, but you can't settle on anything so you wind up wolfing a Mars bar and a packet of salt-and-vinegar crisps that break out a sweat on your upper lip. You get three different papers, but they still don't tell you anything you want to know - like who you've eaten. Old or young, man or woman, white or yellow or brown? You see the glossy colours of the sauces.
by Andrea Owen
Andrea has been a professional fine artist for the last decade, exhibiting nationwide. She has an MA from the Royal College of Art and ran a gallery in Fulham for two years: but now writing has taken her over. Her BA from Oxford (1988) was in English, and since childhood Andrea has harboured a secret ambition to be published before she turns forty - now achieved here. She has also lived in Chicago, where she studied at the School of the Art Institute and worked as a graphic designer for a weekly paper. She lives in London.