Peter is 24 and lives in Glasgow. He loves his music, but after buying a guitar donkies ago has realised he’s no David Gilmore. Which he thinks is a real bummer. He has been writing fiction nocturnally for a couple of years and ‘In Limbo’, one of his earliest pieces, is his first publication.

PETER'S INFLUENCES

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JAMES KELMAN

Click image for Walking Among the Fires, interview with Kelman; for an excellent selection of Kelman links on the Scriptorium website, click here; to read Kelman's story, 'Constellation,' click here or for related items on Amazon, click here

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STEPHEN KING

Click image to visit Stephen King's official website; for the Stephen King Resources on the World Wide Web website, click here or for related items on Amazon, click here.

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ROALD DAHL - Matilda

Click image to visit the official Roald Dahl website; for the Roald Dahl Fans site, featuring resources for fans, students, teachers, and collectors, click here or to view his work on Amazon, click here

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RADIOHEAD

Click image to read Peter Murphy's interview with the band's Jonny Greenwood on The New Review section of this site; to visit Radiohead's official website, click here or for related items on Amazon, click here

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PINK FLOYD

Click image to visit the official Pink Floyd website; for the Pink Floyd & Co website, click here or for related items on Amazon, click here

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FIVE EXCEPTIONAL SHORT STORIES

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ANTON CHEKHOV - The Lady With the Little Dog

Click image to read the story online on the Ibiblio website; for a profile of Chekhov and related links on the NCW website, click here or for related books on Amazon, click here

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SAMUEL BECKETT - First Love

Click image to visit the Samuel Beckett Endpage website; for the Samuel Beckett Online Resources and Links page, click here or for related items on Amazon, click here

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FRANZ KAFKA - The Judgement

Click image to visit the Kafka Project website; for the Constructive Franz Kafka website, click here or for related books on Amazon, click here

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ERNEST HEMINGWAY - The Killers

Click image for the Ernest Hemingway: His Life and Works website; for the website of the Hemingway Resource Centre, click here or for related books on Amazon, click here

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WILL YOU PLEASE BE QUIET, PLEASE – Raymond Carver

Click image to visit Phil Carson's Raymond Carver Page; for two interviews the Carver on the Prose as Architecture site, click here; for The Raymond Carver Website, click here or to order the book on Amazon, click here.

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IN LIMBO

by
Peter McCabe

I banged down on the horn and looked up, out through the window again. Nuthin, fuckin nuthin; some bastard had telephoned a fast one and I had to just sit here as folly. Useless, pointless; twenty two years as a taxi driver and how many times had this occurred, this waitin by the curb in the middle of the night for a fare that wasn’t gony happen? Just slouched here, starin, then just lyin back against the seat in capricious purgatory. And fuckin pissed-off about it too! The windshield wipers weren't doin anythin about it either; up down, up down, up down they went, collectin but really doin fuck-all about the rain. Hard lashin stuff, and the funny thing was of course that it had only started when I parked five minutes before; like this journey was a wash-out; like it wasn't gony go any further. Like I was stuck.

But five whole minutes I'd been lingerin here and abidin by the rules, givin whoever the bastard was some time to get down stairs. Number fifty-three the close door said; and that was the correct address! - I fuckin knew I'd come to the right place! Apart from the damn pishin rain the street was quiet, empty, and the idea this call had been a hoax came to mind. A reverie, a night-dream, and it was the two teenagers up there at the corner who were doin this to me. I could see them hidin and then peekin around, laughin and gigglin and pushin each other wi delight, then bombin it up the road shoutin for me to chase them, chase them. But I wouldnay do that, I wouldnay fuckin give them the satisfaction by gettin out. There was no way I was bloody gony get soaked! But still, cunts.

I sat upright and grabbed at the wheel, my fists pushin it forward wi all the strength my shoulders could muster. Bullshit, it was fuckin bullshit; this particular moment; this exact situation of just sittin here and waitin. Why was I doin this to myself, why was I remainin here when this was the last call of my shift? Folly, it was just folly. All of it; this shift; this long, hard fuckin shift I knew was gony come to an end sooner or later. Like it always did, no matter what choices were made. Even if I fuckin turned the key and got up and left - it would still catch up wi me. Because this was what I did; this was my fuckin career; so I had to finish what I'd begun and get on with the job in hand. I picked up the radio, callin in to depot to let them know where I was, ‘John here. I'm at 53 Brand Street - for McAlpine. There's nobody here. I've been beepin up for five minutes, but nuthin's happnin.’

A woman's voice came broken-up into the car, tellin me somethin I didnay want to hear, ‘The fare isnay un..til 3,... ye've... 'ot there too early.’

I looked down at my watch, it was ten to three. ‘Alright, no bother. I'll stay here until then.’

I'd arrived quarter of an hour too fuckin early!, and now had ten minutes to kill. Time!, all the time I'd wasted held up here and now all the bloody time I had to wait for my pick-up. This was senseless, senseless!, and why hadn't the bastards come down to tell me they were gony be awhile? That would have been the right thing to do, but they had been ignorin me ever since I got here. Fuckin neglectin this forty seven year old taxi driver as if I was invisible. As if my part in the world only came into existence when they opened the back door and jumped in.

But I still had to think of somethin to do. There was no point in startin the engine and goin to the garage down the road; I wasn't hungry and there was no way I'd waste any petrol. Couldnay be bothered wi that anyway - I couldnay be arsed. So it was here I was to stay, alone and crammed into this fuckin hired vehicle. I scanned around the inside tryin to think. Could read, but of course to do that ye had to have somethin to read wi. I didnay even have today's paper; in fact no paper whatsoever; and no books, no A to Z, no nuthin. So that idea was out. And then there was the stereo right in front of me, tacitly tellin me what I already knew. All those songs I could find, all those fuckin lyrics from my youth. If I switched the damn thing on they would be there: all those dreams, all those plans I never had the bottle to fail. So I wasn't gony lean over and switch that dial on - no way, too much. But there was no doubt somethin had to change - I had to take action.

© Peter McCabe
Reproduced with permission