Mick’s getting his flat ready to sell so I thought I might at least lift the odd box – nothing too heavy, of course – and provide the occasional piece of advice on paint finishes.
I will also dack him at any given occasion (he doesn’t wear underwear at home).
Anything to precipitate our move away, to be honest. I’ve had enough.
My rent’s just been jacked up by almost 20 per cent and I’m barely getting by as it is.
During an economic meltdown, no less!
Work has been improving at least – a few extra days covered next month’s rent – and I can confidently say I can ‘apple-shift-G’ with confidence.
There’s a lovely new bloke – British, forties, straight – who is struggling with the computer system like I was. I am actually now being asked questions! He’s also been kind enough to give me a lift home a couple of times – a limousine by comparison to public transport. It was the first opportunity we’d had to talk at length; the work atmosphere in general is occupied and/or headphoned, albeit punctuated by the occasional trill of queeny glee (that penetrates anything).
It was a pleasant change and we happily chatted about the day at work, the soulless, distinctly grim nature of the new apartment suburbs springing up in south Sydney that passed us on our way north, global financial debacles and our future dreams.
Then he asked me what else I did…
A Canberra motel.
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