017 – Some Things Never Change

Author: Jim  //  Category: Rated R

Some Things Never Change, by M.R. Jordan.

Music for this episode is Sedona Sky, by 2012.

Jim Gable cradled a cheap plastic grocery bag between his arm and ribcage because the handles had broken. In the other hand he thumbed his retro iPhone X, flipping through songs. He walked with his head down, on autopilot. Tweets crawled across his screen- old and new were seconds apart- from friends seemingly compelled to announce every detail of their lives. Half of them weren’t friends, not in the old sense of the word. These days the world was your friend. A woman walking her dog sniffed at him as she passed.


Shelves 001 – The Beetle

Author: Jim  //  Category: The Bookshelves

Nil Desperandum presents The Bookshelves. Adam discusses The Beetle, by Richard Marsh.


016 – Memories of Childhood

Author: Jim  //  Category: Rated PG

Memories of Childhood, by D. Thomas Minton. Narrated by Riki Robinson.

Music is Rolling Memories, by Alexandre Falcao.

“All right, all right,” said Margie, waving her hands for silence. “Enough war-on-terror talk.”

The four of us had finished several bottles of wine, and her face glowed flush in the soft lamplight. I felt a little lightheaded myself and incredibly horny. From where she sat at the end of the couch, she pushed against my thigh with her toes. It was driving me crazy.

“What is your earliest memory from childhood?” Margie asked when she had our attention.

“I can remember being born,” Julian said.


015 – Legs

Author: Jim  //  Category: Rated R

Legs, by Tara Barnett. Narrated by Lorna Boyle.

Music is The Body, by Android Lust.

I love my legs. I chose the custom red striping on the sides when I was twelve, with vintage ball joint knees and toes, patterned with scrolls; a more expensive model than my parents wanted. We customized the calves with embossed stars that wind a gentle arc up my legs to my thighs. I was quite the designer even then. My parents made me pay for half of them with my allowance from that summer because they were so utterly frivolous. It was the summer without ice cream. I looked at my old blue feet every time the truck went by and curled my toes in anticipation, smiling to myself.


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