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The next few days were spent exploring the marvellous city in the glorious sunshine. On our first night we were privy to an annual block-party where African-American families cooked barbecues while their children played volleyball, basketball, skipped or ran under the stream of an erupting fire hydrant, and a DJ boomed out soul music. We stayed in Harlem, a 6-bed dorm in a converted brownstone. That was until the archetypal American architecture of Manhattan came into view - all squares and spires, evenly spaced rectangular windows, and zig-zagging fire escapes hanging from the side of brownstone apartment buildings. That noisy, crowded, cramped feeling that blights - or graces, depending on your preference - our capital city that was missing from LA or San Fran. The first thing we noticed about New York, as our train from JFK rolled past red-and-brown-brick residential blocks, derelict warehouses and shabby subway stations, and as we had to shove our way - backpacks and all - on to a packed rush-hour carriage at Penn station, was that it was remarkably like London. We only had a couple of nights in San Fran before flying to New York, our final destination. It is an impressive structure that somehow - perhaps due to the striking red paint-job - manages to be more impressive than the seemingly longer Bay Bridge. We also visited the Golden Gate Bridge which, as is typical for the time of year, was shrouded by mist (there is a strange micro-climate here whereby the bay area will be foggy and cold while the town centre still enjoys bright sunshine).
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We took a nighttime stroll through the Tenderloin district, where the number of crack-heads and pimps, beggars and weirdos is simply frightening: talking to themselves, singing, or haranguing the cold night air.
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Union Square, the spotless town centre, is brimming with upmarket department stores colourful murals and entire streets are dedicated to Beat poets and revolutionary leaders not one but two leviathan suspension bridges span the bay area, where the now defunct Alcatraz simmers malevolently and is encroached by the salty wharves of the docks and Ferry Building. Antique trams haul themselves up steep roads flanked by pastel coloured townhouses. Can they play by the strange rules of the Fair Folk and win their freedom, or are they fated to lose themselves within the trees?įrom the wonderful Gurt Dog Press, the indie book publishers who specialise in LGBTQ+ Horror & Science Fiction.We dropped off our car in San Francisco, a city famed for its hills, homosexuals, and homeless people. They struggle to navigate the unbalanced and crumbling kingdom, while being opposed by creatures they thought resided only in fables. Unbeknownst to them, their paths run parallel.
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She makes a bargain with a knight from Lovelorn, entrusting her quest to him, all the while fearful that his word cannot be trusted. Mabel, a grieving wife abandoned by her husband, searches for her young son, Peter, who was stolen by the Fair Folk, simply wanting to bring her family together again. He is dancing a dangerous waltz however as Kelpies are a sly and deadly folk, his actions bringing him steadily closer to a grave at the bottom of a lake. Harry, a disgraced jockey, stumbles upon a Kelpie and seeks to bind him, intending to use him to regain his former glory at horse racing. Two unsuspecting mortals stray into the depths of this hidden world. In Victorian England, within the sprawling countryside, a small village borders Lovelorn, a crystal kingdom inhabited by the Fair Folk that masquerades as a dense wood.