So, why have so many good writers dabbled in writing erotica? The answer I think is as simple as this…
writing
Birthdays are only as good as the last Adele song you’ve listened to I learnt recently. Eating crispy skin chicken and vegetables, I sit pondering my journey so far, turning tables …
I remember punches flying, and seeing three men in a circle, I only found out dad had been involved when mum came running back screaming, ‘Oh, God. Your father been bashed. We have to get him to a hospital.’
To say my father was good man would be a lie. I remember him in a series of flashbacks, moments of violent domestic mayhem and toothy smiles, followed by a gentle pat on the head. When he died of massive brain injuries I was relieved.
If God was working today he’d be a professional musician. Probably playing trumpet in a dodgy RSL club in Yarraville or singing an old folk song by Peter, Paul and Mary…
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