Cradling the phone in the hollow of her shoulder she tells her suitor ‘Babe, I know,’ with prescient firmness and rolls her eyes in my direction. I sigh, hoping she hears the ticking of a clock, knowing it won’t matter anyway. I tell myself I’m leaving in five minute increments and stay long past all my deadlines. She lays her hand upon my stomach and apologizes without meaning it. Somehow I feel she should be sorry for that but it doesn’t matter, her fingers are soft and warm against my skin and manipulate my libido with paper craft precision.
Nic Addenbrooke is a freelance writer, editor, content creator, radio broadcaster, part-time poet and sometimes artist. Nic has been coming to terms with existence for years. He currently lives and works in Brisbane where he struggles to turn the cacophony of voices in his head into things of substance. It doesn’t always work but occasionally produces a nice veneer of sanity.