The Solace in
Wagon Wheels
—
Kik Lodge
I DON’T KNOW IF THIS is a kidnapping, so I ask, to clear things up, is this a kidnapping? but the man is grilling bacon in the kitchen, next to the living room into which I was shoved because I followed him back to his flat and had it out with him on the porch to a tenement building set for the wrecking ball—I said I saw you, and he said you what? and I said I saw you nicking stuff from the Co-op, and he grabbed me by the collar and said get in there you twat, hence me sitting here on the sofa in his living room next to the kitchen where he’s grilling bacon.
The man has stolen a 2L carton of orange juice, an Autosport, ten rashers of bacon and a packet of Wagon Wheels; four items which came to £16.99.
I saw him run off, through the e-gates, the alarm wailing as he fled, and the good-natured slice of me deemed it appropriate to pay for this desperate man, but the checkout chap said look, if the man’s stolen something he has to bring it back and pay for it himself, each barcode is assigned to a specific product, but if you insist on paying, go take them from the aisle, mate, so I went off and got a 2L carton of orange juice, an Autosport, ten rashers of bacon and a packet of Wagon Wheels, the latter which I’d come for in the first place.
Anyway, on my way home I saw him in the park with his Co-op bag, so I followed him back to his place, principles getting the better of me, but to be honest, right now I have better things to do than bear witness to the struggles of a man on benefits, rummaging round like a savage in the kitchen—I’ve known that circus—I have a wife to get back to who’s complaining of a squeaking cupboard, of my absence of effort with her parents last Sunday because exchanges are supposed to be two-way and no, a nod is not an answer, of disappearing without warning on my nightly orbit around our district; but the desperate man is back, and I’m expecting a fistfight, yet instead he carries a tray with two glasses of iced orange juice, mustard-coated bacon sandwiches, and he’s sticking on the F1, urging me to go ahead and bite into the lightly toasted and buttery loaf, the thin ribbons of pork a rush of crunch, both salty and fondant, and sit with him to watch 1.6-litre V6 turbo hybrid engines moan round and round some foreign circuit in the thick of a dust bowl; round and round and round and round, my wagon wheels stationary in the bag by the curtains, his on the kitchen surface no doubt; marshmallow parables of our little lives. •
![]()
![]()
Kik Lodge is a short fiction writer from Devon, England, but she lives in France with a menagerie of kids, cats, rabbit and a man now. Her work can be found in some lovely journals; The Citron Review, Bending Genres, trampset, Milk Candy Review, Splonk, and Smokelong Quarterly, as well as the Best Microfiction 2024 and 2026 anthologies. Her debut flash collection, Scream If You Want To, is out with Alien Buddha Press and a second collection, The Bully in my Pillow, was published with Stanchion Books in August 2026.
Website | Bluesky | Instagram
The man has stolen a 2L carton of orange juice, an Autosport, ten rashers of bacon and a packet of Wagon Wheels; four items which came to £16.99.
I saw him run off, through the e-gates, the alarm wailing as he fled, and the good-natured slice of me deemed it appropriate to pay for this desperate man, but the checkout chap said look, if the man’s stolen something he has to bring it back and pay for it himself, each barcode is assigned to a specific product, but if you insist on paying, go take them from the aisle, mate, so I went off and got a 2L carton of orange juice, an Autosport, ten rashers of bacon and a packet of Wagon Wheels, the latter which I’d come for in the first place.
Anyway, on my way home I saw him in the park with his Co-op bag, so I followed him back to his place, principles getting the better of me, but to be honest, right now I have better things to do than bear witness to the struggles of a man on benefits, rummaging round like a savage in the kitchen—I’ve known that circus—I have a wife to get back to who’s complaining of a squeaking cupboard, of my absence of effort with her parents last Sunday because exchanges are supposed to be two-way and no, a nod is not an answer, of disappearing without warning on my nightly orbit around our district; but the desperate man is back, and I’m expecting a fistfight, yet instead he carries a tray with two glasses of iced orange juice, mustard-coated bacon sandwiches, and he’s sticking on the F1, urging me to go ahead and bite into the lightly toasted and buttery loaf, the thin ribbons of pork a rush of crunch, both salty and fondant, and sit with him to watch 1.6-litre V6 turbo hybrid engines moan round and round some foreign circuit in the thick of a dust bowl; round and round and round and round, my wagon wheels stationary in the bag by the curtains, his on the kitchen surface no doubt; marshmallow parables of our little lives. •
Kik Lodge is a short fiction writer from Devon, England, but she lives in France with a menagerie of kids, cats, rabbit and a man now. Her work can be found in some lovely journals; The Citron Review, Bending Genres, trampset, Milk Candy Review, Splonk, and Smokelong Quarterly, as well as the Best Microfiction 2024 and 2026 anthologies. Her debut flash collection, Scream If You Want To, is out with Alien Buddha Press and a second collection, The Bully in my Pillow, was published with Stanchion Books in August 2026.
Website | Bluesky | Instagram