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WEBSITE pavementlicker.com jamesleeduffy.com joshjoshjones.co.uk CONTACT mail@pavementlicker.com CONTRIBUTORS 1 - Front Cover 2 - Kavin Cook 3 - daft–apeth 4 - Ryan Belmont 5 - We Are Shadows 6 - Pure Evil 7 - Babak Ganjei 8 - Kerry Roper 9 - Adriano Fidalgo 10 - Patrick Morales-Lee 11 - Lauren Berry 12 - Karborn 13 - Mitch O’Connell 14 - T. Wesley Snead 15 - Joe Goicoechea 16 - We Are Shadows 17 - We Are Shadows 18 - Ben Coosmans 19 - Stephanie Sian Smith 20 - Gonefellow 21 - James Oliver 22 - Rajesh Mistry 23 - Javier Antonio Arjona Juàrez 24 - Liam Clark 25 - Tom Medwell 26 - Josh Jones 27 - Fred Coppin 28 - We Are Shadows 29 - Jimmy Cauty 30 - Kostas Seremetis 31 - Anthony Lister 32 - Barnaby Roper 33 - A.CE London 34 - Ben Fry 35 - Dan Genders 36 Lauren Berry 37 - Simon Davies 38 - Jonny Watkins 39 - Steven Quinn 40 - Bert Gilbert 41 - Paul Camo 42 - Samuel B. Thorne 43 - Rugman 44 - Josh Jones 45 - We Are Shadows 46 - Matthew Green 47 - Perou 48 - PYKY Studio 49 - We Are Shadows/Josh Jones 50 - Andreas Laszlo Konrath 51 - Kostas Seremetis 52 - James-Lee Duffy

© PAVEMENT LICKER 2019


PSYCHO BESTY Am I a bad person? I tried to find a diplomatic answer. She rolled her eyes and tutted. I scraped a twig along the gutter until I realised what it was and dropped it. I was trying to anticipate her reaction. I was trying to find a nice way to say – ‘That’s pretty much the definition of a psychopath, so yeah. Maybe’ She looked at me like a cat looks at a toy mouse. Like, you’re not even a real mouse. She has a unique ability to turn her awfulness into something I apologise to her for. She’s horrible and we fight, but she inevitably reappears, usually around the time the grudge has subsided, and somehow I’ll apologise, and buy drinks, and wonder how I got back here. We were sitting on the kerb outside a bar in London Bridge. She was smoking Silk Cut and I was fiddling with twigs. I only smoke occasionally, when I feel lightly suicidal, like fuck it, bring death to me on the slowest carousel. ‘I’ve always been like this’ she said, wholly unbothered ‘Yeah’ ‘My mum said I should never have kids’ ‘That’s harsh’ ‘Yeah she said I’m too selfish. She said I nearly killed the dog’ ‘Did you?’ ‘No’ ‘What happened to the dog?’ We’d been friends for 15 years, this was the first time she’d mentioned a dog. ‘I forgot my mum went on holiday and didn’t feed him’ ‘Fuck man. How long for?’ ‘A week’ She flicked the butt of her cigarette across the street and we both watched it smoulder. A black cab growled past and I wondered who was in it and wished it was me. ‘He didn’t die’ I didn’t respond. I wondered what kind of dog it was. ‘He looked better thin anyway’ This is why we’re friends. She’s funny. Not intentionally but consistently. So I keep coming back, even though she’s off her fucking head.


THEY NEED T E R M I N AT I N G . YOU MEAN E X T E R M I N AT I N G


CHAPTER 1 Arland Furnival’s blood ran black in the blue morning murk. It bolted out of his stomach, jogged down his tracksuit trousers, over his grubby suit shoes and snaked a treacly way under the pushchair in front of him, between the towpath cobbles, before falling headlong into the canal. Arland was less than happy about this. He sank to his knees. Then he sighed. Then he died. Arland’s killer leant on the push bar of the pram with an easy elbow, watching, smiling and wiping the blood from the knife that, moments earlier, had been squirming around in a stomach. Then, matter of factly, reached down and pulled back the terry towelling blanket in the pram’s carriage and gently tucked the blade to bed. Kicking the pram’s brake off, and turning a collar up to the morning chill, they sauntered off, softly singing a lullaby. The wheel squeaked into the distance. Wheels always squeak into the distance.

CHAPTER 2 London’s sk y went from black to blue to grey as the sun lurched up behind the clouds and gently nudged the city awake. The city, of course, would roll over and hit the snooze button at least twice before begrudgingly rousing. London is, after all, the city that keeps terrible hours, but always needs a nap. Arland stayed quite still as a cat lapped its breakfast nonchalantly from his stomach hole.


FROM A CREATIVE POINT OF VIEW The 60s was counter-culture, sexism and cigars. Whisk y and illustrators. Billboards, fighting and acid. The 70s slid into the détente decade of ‘Me’. The suits snuck in, the young fought back with flares, pencils, haircuts, spray cans and weed. The 80s was all scalpels and spray mount and Letraset and the suits won. The 90s got a bit more colourful and it was briefly OK to be British. The next two decades don’t have names but we’re vegan and we’re on the internet all the time so we might as well be dead. GIFs are cool though.


A FIGHT TO THE DEAF YOU WHAT? YOU WHAT? YOU FUCKING WHAT? YOU FUCKING WHAT MATE? YOU WHAT? YOU WHAT? COME, HEAR AND SAY THAT YOU WHAT?


Profile for JAMES-LEE  DUFFY

Pavement Licker No.11  

Pavement Licker crawled into life in 2003 in a dirty London pub when graphic artist James-Lee Duffy and writer Josh Jones decided to create...

Pavement Licker No.11  

Pavement Licker crawled into life in 2003 in a dirty London pub when graphic artist James-Lee Duffy and writer Josh Jones decided to create...

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