Max stood at the restaurant’s dispensing station nearest the main entrance on the corner of Oxford Road and Portland Street. People use to call him Maxwell or Mr Hinkley, which he preferred. It was a professional courtesy and he liked it. It set him apart.
I just had an ultrasound of my nut-sack after a rather disagreeable pain in my right cojone mulishly persisted in spite of a strong prescriptive course of anti-inflammatories that I was assured would fix me.
It’s not unusual for kids to grow up in dysfunctional families and fucked up environments and consider it all very normal. As Christof, the megalomaniac television producer in The Truman Show so concisely stated, ‘We accept the reality of the world with which we are presented.’
Christian Christian Senior strolled into McMahon Sports Bar either unaffected or unaware of his lateness. His punctuality or lack thereof was commonly known and easily tolerated by his wife and embraced by friends because he was such a damn charismatic fellow.
In a world boasting and bursting of continually updated and unmitigated connectivity – wall-to-wall polyphilia, live chats, tweets, blogging, tumblring, and skyping, Jerome had never felt more maligned and alone. He was walking testimony to Seneca’s astute insight made two millennia ago: ‘Everywhere is nowhere. When a person spends all his time in foreign travel, he ends by having many acquaintances, but no friends.’
Lunagirl sees the boys are far from the lads they’re pretending to be and the men they want to be. But sympathy is not cheap in this town.
It’s only fair I should start by clarifying if you’re looking for 12 ways to make yourself feel happy, or better this isn’t the blog for you. I’m not qualified – and I tend to find inspiration in others because I struggle to find it in myself. But the irony isn’t lost on me that the people who inspire you the most are also possibly the reason you feel so shit.
Lunagirl knew it was an apology of sorts, albeit unspoken, after being abandoned on the first day they met – even though Lunagirl stopped feeling abandoned a long time ago. Rainfish said it was a surprise. But to pass the time as they headed up the back of Alexander Park he started telling her about One-Legged Keith, which to Shades, sounded more like warning.
Lunagirl couldn’t see if Rainfish vanished into the puddle, or the puddle swallowed him. Liquid and solid masses seemed to connect somewhere just off the ground. A gutter of embrace and Rainfish was gone. The puddle fell back down to its apathetic state in the shadows.
Lunagirl’s khaki canvas rucksack is strapped like a Neolithic shield to her back. It bounces along with her through the drizzle as they head south on Princess Parkway and onto Wilbraham Rd.
Before Lunagirl has time to react Rainfish has her arm like a leash. ‘Come-n’ – We carn’t slow down. Fouk’it Shades. Don’t stop.’ That’s what Rainfish called Lunagirl – Shades, on account she always wore turtle blue sunglasses. To her mother Lunagirl was Jane.
The following Monday Josphine wrote a review of Finn’s birthday movie night in the double-sheeted weekly newspaper Lieb had just launched. It was titled Amateur Perfectionist Projectionist.
Duston and Russell grew frustrated and tired missing or letting lizards slip through their fingers. They deliberately flattened their hands and began indiscriminately smacking the walls. They squashed one accidentally and were satisfied. Then Duston pinned a straw lizard against a hot brick.
The plane soared upward like a ballistic Phoenix until it was a splinter in the sun and everyone squinted and turned away. They missed it curl around. Then it swooped down to a choir of hoops and screams that lifted and fell when it appeared gravity would smite its cavalier defiance.
She sits alone by the coffee shop window. On her table is an espresso, a small beaker of milk and a clear glass of hot water that condenses around the rim. A cigarette in her right hand burns a silk scarf of smoke into the air.
Subsequently to asking the big question – Can I make a living entering internet competitions? To which I found the answer was definitively in the ‘No’ corner of the fight cage, I thought I should not let my work and words go to waste. So below is the script I intended for the Carlton Dry Legends of Dry competition.
One might easily think so given the recent, cumulative increases in visa application fees that went up again on 1st September 2013. Suborned by the lure of unfamiliar places, new faces and an untold story, I am always flying in and out of Perth in Western Australia.
Are high stakes/low loss competitions primarily for the desperate and weak? I don’t know – how many billionaires play Lotto? I would ask them but I don’t know any. I dare say the majority of committed participants in high stakes draws of luck and chance belong to the realm of the destitute, the disenfranchised and the hopeful (like me).
S.P. and I seemed to start going out because of some fucked up adolescent deference to symmetry. My older sister was going out with her older brother and when my sister told me she liked me we were inextricably yoked together as boyfriend and girlfriend the following day.
Gonzalos swims in the light sleep of morning. He dances in his dreams to a bolero of unrequited love Rosita is humming. She had started singing boleros the day before, with her head drooped over the starboard aft, her gaze lost in the shimmering water like she was singing to the ocean itself.