Every time Jamie tells his story he gets a little more innocent, as though guilt were washable in rhetoric. I listen at the corners of the conversation, tired of his inflation, and search myself for some barb to bring him down. All I have is my own indignation and a weary knack for self-depreciation. Jamie orders another round and goes back to polishing his lies. I tell him I’m going to kill myself and he says, oh yeah, in a milk with two tone that makes me want to switch my target. Sometimes I wonder why I’m here.
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.