The three of them draped around my lounge in various states of disrepair, two bottles of wine and three hourglass figures. I’m trying to teach them how to smoke, how to get high really, all of them failing with saccharine adolescent resilience. Sarah pulls out the Velvet Underground and holds it up like a boxing ring round girl. Maybe when you’re older, I tell her, and she pouts, puts the record back and continues not to care. The other two tangle on the couch, blowing full-stop smoke rings at each other, laughing the way rain feels in summer.
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.