5 Stories of Loss
Please read the amazing stories by the talented writer.
“Come out to play?” Cody asks.
I sort of want to say no. I don’t particularly like Cody – he is one of the naughty kids. He is already banned from entering the house after the last visit, and I know my parents disapprove of him. His house is in the next street along – a ramshackle yard giving way to the sort of asbestos beach shack that gentrification has now pushed out of Sydney’s Northern Beaches in favour of designer architect built homes, townhouses and McMansions.
Cody’s parents are the archetypal ex-hippies, the kind of people that always seem to be nude, even when clothed, balls and breasts hanging in half concealed shadows, armpit hair accentuating the musty reek of body odour, and the mingled scent of incense and cigarette smoke. I don’t really like going to Cody’s house either, it doesn’t appeal to my fastidious nature…
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