A Night in a Brothel part 2

Adele’s brothel name was Tenille. When she told me this, early in her employment at Getting Up to Mischief, I didn’t fully appreciate what it meant. It merely seemed the outer layer of protective falsehood the women donned when dealing with the men, part of the ensemble of fake interest, fake attraction, fake orgasms the […] Read more…

A Night in a Brothel Part 1.

The brothel looked like a one-legged robot. It stood on its one leg in the industrial zone of one of Melbourne’s suburban wildernesses and was named “Getting Up to Mischief”. Adele parked her rusty old Kombi under the robot’s angular loins and we entered through a door in the ankle. It was Thursday evening in […] Read more…

To leave the burning house

One of the things I never talk about is the absence that leaving my family created in me. One of the reasons I don’t talk about it is because there are lots of people in the world who feel an anxious longing to see a broken family mended. Whenever I talk about my broken family, […] Read more…

My father’s Christmas

Christmas is the time each year when I thank heaven I no longer have to spend it with my family. Christmas wasn’t a bad time of year – not once my brothers and I had grown up. It was boring.   My father prepared the turkey by stuffing the bird (a chill shivered down my […] Read more…

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