tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2960571648578188662009-06-12T11:35:08.608+10:00cocolaconoreply@blogger.comBlogger49125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-296057164857818866.post-26662859464425074462009-06-07T17:08:00.002+10:002009-06-07T17:18:39.646+10:00

If this was a trap, I wasn't ready for it. There'd been pressure to greet the neighbours. They were here. They were mingling with each other, wine, petit pies and bossa nova music.I fetched more glasses from the kitchen. A nice-looking woman apologised that she hadn't had the time to make something for the event, showing me her bag of groceries. Of course, I protested that it was unnecessary for

cocolacohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17555952659909927505noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-296057164857818866.post-87082194681410187442008-06-08T19:07:00.000+10:002009-06-08T19:08:01.995+10:00

No fewer than four beggars waited outside the supermarket, and on the opposite corner, a soup kitchen was midway through distributing sandwiches, sausages and hot drinks to a much larger group of men and women. Laden with groceries, Polly crossed the street, keeping her head bowed low so that raindrops wouldn't wet her face.She walked down the alleyway beside her block of apartments because it

cocolacohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17555952659909927505noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-296057164857818866.post-54724143111189356762008-05-16T23:49:00.008+10:002009-06-08T22:39:27.001+10:00

I woke up Monday with a $500 free bar tab hangover. One of those. I stopped halfway through showering and lay down on the cool bathroom tiles, introspecting: whether or not I was about to puke, gonna be fine, or gonna walk into the foyer at work, sit down on one of those red leather waiting-chairs, and very meekly ask Annabel, reception, to call me a cab because I need to go home, pronto. Joyous

cocolaconoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-296057164857818866.post-74091425790132926492008-04-20T17:29:00.002+10:002008-04-20T17:37:11.853+10:00

At the end of twenty-eight days, Polydor had the opportunity of seeing (well-lit room - at home - not out for once) that the day written next to the pill she was taking didn't coincide with the day that was happening In The World. Something had gone wrong somewhere. She woke up the next morning to find a pale baby, with light brown curly hair, in her care. First things first. Polydor procured a

cocolaconoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-296057164857818866.post-19134916625934887162008-03-28T01:03:00.006+11:002008-03-29T12:27:27.414+11:00

Martina sailed -- sailed -- through the kitchen with her arms stretched out widely. Bird wingspan. Jet plane. Swan flight."We don't really know what she's thinking," said her pa. "She's eighteen now but she's not like regular kids. We never really know what she's thinking."Martina exited. Her pa and her aunt poured second cups of tea for themselves. Her aunt added white sugar lumps. She didn't

cocolaconoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-296057164857818866.post-90433785974181634642008-03-27T00:26:00.002+11:002008-03-27T20:29:02.740+11:00

I.For their first year anniversary, she wanted to do something different. She was creative in her work but all creativity seemed to stop once she left that warehouse in the eve. She stuck to a monochrome blue wardrobe to make clothing purchases and her presentation faster and easier. The side-effect, perceived eccentricity, served her well. She kept in touch with her parents via email and Skype.

cocolaconoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-296057164857818866.post-73863891839806962472008-03-25T22:18:00.001+11:002008-03-26T16:39:54.841+11:00

"There's a new guy in town." Saloon doors swing open and shut. A man is standing there. Tanned and wearing tan leather. The saloon is almost empty, a couple of old-timers and the owner. He doesn't really care. The announcer realises this after a moment, and walks out again, with an imperceptible grimace, a tiny clenching of the jaw.He reinvests in his mission and saunters over to the Sheriff's

cocolaconoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-296057164857818866.post-6850072630723794282007-06-08T19:13:00.000+10:002009-06-08T19:13:41.214+10:00

Poor Andrew. He thought of himself as being in a Dickens novel. He'd never read one. He savoured ostracism. He purposely didn't buy gloves in the winter and walked down shopping strips in lower middle class neighbourhoods, with painfully icy hands, eyeing the family restaurants with warm, stupid YUM CHA DAILY and ALL YOU CAN EAT $12.95 signs. He paused and let the contrasting temperatures -

cocolacohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17555952659909927505noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-296057164857818866.post-89465450113140503982007-06-08T19:04:00.001+10:002009-06-08T19:05:18.923+10:00

"Champagne, you drinking?""Are you making a joke?""No...?""Well, okay. Yes I am.""Champagne? Or drinking?""Ha, ha, so what? So what?""OK, what'd you like?""Champagne.""Ha, ha!""Yeah, ha. Please now?""OK. You're drunk.""True, true. Come on, more?""Then go, home?""Ha, ha. OK.""Champagne!""Oh what?""No I was ordering.""Oh OK."Champagne and Pieta nabbed a taxicab home. "We are the light that travels

cocolacohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17555952659909927505noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-296057164857818866.post-17216857474622870032007-06-08T19:04:00.000+10:002009-06-08T19:04:31.301+10:00

Awkward friends shared a seat on an ivy-coloured velveteen couch. The words "there is still time, brother" were neatly stencilled on the cushions they were leaning against. Tomek suppressed a girlish giggle as some tourists departed, nearby, uncovering the words "to make out" on their plush rose sofa. His acquaintances had seen enough."Good to catch up," said Anne."See you at work," said Dita."

cocolacohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17555952659909927505noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-296057164857818866.post-12225829923452366812007-06-08T18:49:00.000+10:002009-06-08T18:50:10.950+10:00

In the white and new hotel, Per was trying to find some peace and quiet, a room where he couldn't be found, a hiding space for him and his notebook. He picked a random floor and a random room number. He tripped the lock and the room appeared to be unoccupied, so he sat with his knees close to his chest in the bathroom and continued writing about the fox outside in the snow, seemingly cute and

cocolacohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17555952659909927505noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-296057164857818866.post-51750432780937338422007-06-08T18:47:00.000+10:002009-06-08T18:47:52.984+10:00

When my sister died in August, I vomited my guts out. I tried to eat sometimes. Thinking it might make me feel better, or that my body might be able to cope better if it was healthier. But I vomited everything back out. I was sneeringly, nastily, hatingly disgusted with myself. She had been sick for so long that I'd only thought of her as being sick, forevermore, I couldn't imagine her really

cocolacohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17555952659909927505noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-296057164857818866.post-76096285378501732742007-06-08T18:45:00.000+10:002009-06-08T18:45:36.296+10:00

Jaffe was thirty-two, an office worker, no longer called Jaffe by his peers, but it was still his name inside his head. Everyone else called him James now. But there were a gazillion other Jameses in the world and he wanted to feel just a little bit different. He worked in advertising, wooing new clients, wining and dining, with a gift of the gab.In one of the weeks just before Christmas, Jaffe

cocolacohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17555952659909927505noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-296057164857818866.post-88879995078686858412007-06-08T18:43:00.002+10:002009-06-08T19:17:13.552+10:00

Ornate mirrors, veiled booths filled with overflowing conversations, random drinks, velvet cushions, and middle-eastern colours. London had just caught the top of his beer bottle whilst gesturing and conversing. Beer splashed near the base of a lamp."Dash," he said. "Precious beer lost."He went to find a cloth."It's four a.m.," said Xylo."Dayamn. We should get going," said Tell, leaning back into

cocolacohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17555952659909927505noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-296057164857818866.post-28446941090226930602007-06-08T18:41:00.000+10:002009-06-08T18:42:00.573+10:00

I brewed morning coffee and held the cup it didn't feel right something hairy was on the side my hand touched it I let go jumped back and said "Eeeee" my boyfriend asked what was wrong and I swivelled the mug around to show him there was something resembling a snake head stuck to the side of the cup right next to the cup handle its neck was severed cleanly, I used a teaspoon to flick the head

cocolacohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17555952659909927505noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-296057164857818866.post-35745667345007197842007-06-08T18:34:00.000+10:002009-06-08T18:34:48.260+10:00

Andreas: Did anyone invite Curzon?Four guys shake their heads and generally reply in the negative.Pedro: He doesn't care if we do or don't, he's just as happy being alone. Andreas hits Pedro upside the head.Andreas: Yeah, but that doesn't mean you don't invite him. You do it for how it makes us look. Diego: I don't get it, man.Andreas: Look, whatever. I'll call him.He steps outside the foyer and

cocolacohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17555952659909927505noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-296057164857818866.post-81649397747747323412007-06-08T18:29:00.000+10:002009-06-08T18:29:42.087+10:00

Het sat in a car in the McDonald's car park. He was thinking out loud. "Where should I go." He was making clucking sounds with his tongue. Flicking. "Maybe I'll open a bar." His minder interrupted his quiet time after twenty minutes."Did you damage it?""No, the lock was clean.""Did anyone see you?""No.""Have you left anything in the car?""No.""Okay, sir, it's time to go."Curzon phoned soon

cocolacohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17555952659909927505noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-296057164857818866.post-38254122284995301622007-06-08T18:27:00.000+10:002009-06-08T18:27:36.448+10:00

At the top end of Bourke St, near the Hard Rock Cafe, there's a travel agent called Space Travel. They opened a few days ago. In the window display, there are pictures of couples and families and friends enjoying drinks in space station bars, and cardboard cut-outs of planets dangling down the glass, and there's a backlit board listing destinations and current full-fare and concession prices for

cocolacohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17555952659909927505noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-296057164857818866.post-17975883922630644172006-06-08T19:09:00.000+10:002009-06-08T19:09:41.505+10:00

Mornings were annoying, but they undoubtedly improved and became friendly daytimes. Polly had to coax herself to like the mornings a bit more with some form of treat, like a delicious cappuccino, or a pretty breakfast with pastries, or yogurt, toasted muesli, and fresh fruit on top. She checked her emails, emotionally halfway between liking and disliking the day. She popped off the lid from her

cocolacohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17555952659909927505noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-296057164857818866.post-23485820738763562432006-06-08T19:06:00.001+10:002009-06-08T23:16:23.036+10:00

They exchanged text messages throughout the day, quietly excited, quietly illicit, and Emil asked if they could do something, after his shift ended. Pony said yes. He drove his car to her work, and she quietly imagined how it was for real couples, living together, sharing car rides in the morning and at night. They played make-believe that they were a normal couple, and she asked him how his day

cocolacohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17555952659909927505noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-296057164857818866.post-45969722452059897032006-06-08T19:02:00.001+10:002009-06-08T22:31:04.463+10:00

"If you see a girl with her hip-flesh hanging over her waistband, call her a muffin top," said Rachel."OK," said Will."And - and - if you see a girl and her pants are showing part of her butt, call her, I don't know, what's better, coin slot or business card holder?""Coin slot," said Will and Tim."I like B.C.H." said Rachel. Will offered her glass a refill and she held it up, closer to the bottle

cocolacohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17555952659909927505noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-296057164857818866.post-66399989349199651252006-06-08T18:33:00.001+10:002009-06-08T23:17:26.164+10:00

In the summer of '07, Pony had beautiful plans. They were shot to pieces when her boyfriend went on tour for the entire holiday break. The scenario was push/pull: if Pony had been impressed by Jeschke's music or star power, he would never have been interested in her, or in the challenge of winning her; but because she didn't much like his music or friends or lifestyle, she didn't want to tour

cocolacohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17555952659909927505noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-296057164857818866.post-64997021450695829472006-06-08T18:31:00.002+10:002009-06-08T22:11:37.439+10:00

go into
office say
sorry i
drunk dialled
your wife
now: you say
it's ok
(i know that
you will)
and say
you had a
good time
i'll wish that
more nights were
more interesting
and more interesting
than that one
or do i lie
i am
so stilted

cocolacohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17555952659909927505noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-296057164857818866.post-68589274367543362142006-06-08T18:28:00.003+10:002009-06-08T21:38:46.186+10:00

They jumped in the car and left her house in the suburbs. She drove vaguely towards the city. Five minutes later, she pulled over to the side of the road in Camberwell."Well, so, anything. What would you like to do?"Jeschke fidgetted. "I hate this. I want to make every day count with you. This is you. You. You're amazing. Everything should be amazing.""Yeah, no pressure or anything," said Pony. "

cocolacohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17555952659909927505noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-296057164857818866.post-77742669952488319192006-06-08T18:17:00.002+10:002009-06-08T22:46:33.355+10:00

The best way to describe my relationship with Sam would be to say that he takes off his shades when he's talking to me. No one else. You'd have to know Sam to understand, perhaps, maybe. Parents seriously believe Sam wears his shades while sleeping, but when he's talking to me, even if we're at a crowded party, he raises them slightly so I can see his eyes while he's talking. It makes me feel

cocolacohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17555952659909927505noreply@blogger.com