There’s this guy who lives in my street. Called Dutch. Rides a motorbike. Looks like the type of cat who’s already gone through a few of his nine lives. Lives in the front half of a rented place at the bottom of the hill. Dutch, of course, is not his actual name. I don’t know […]
I was presented with an Alberto’s takeaway this morning. It was either a large flat white, or a cup of crack. Either way, the bathroom finally got cleaned. Yeeeeeha!
Memoir. It really should be avoided by all but those with the most interesting, important, timely, or unique stories. Oh well, tough. I just pulled another old writing exercise out of its box. It’s none of the above. This one’s being set free today because it’s my Superbowl story. It’s also an Ekka story. Does […]
