FIFTY SHADES OF GREYSTANES




It was as if we were being drawn together by some magnetic force. Joe was a bogan by day and a brute in those few fleeting moments we had shared in darkness next to the Seven-eleven around closing time. 

As our lips almost touched, I could detect the faint aroma of pastizzi on his breath and I knew that this was what 'forever' looked like. 

'Irma', he grunted, 'I'll treat you like a precious piece of porcelain. You're not like those other capri-panted matrons.' 

Our embrace was interrupted by a large appliance meandering down a side street. It was garbage night.


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