Coda Josh Grant

Daniel headed out with some mates to a bar. He said he was looking forward to getting tanked, before he left. They went to some bar in Hawthorn. I spent the night at home on my own, writing. I like writing. I can spend my time writing. Chubby snored on the floor next to me. Daniel bought some blond slapper home. They both crashed through the front door earlier than I expected him home, not long after midnight. They both had that demented grin happening. "This is... um? Is er..." Daniel was having trouble getting his eyes to work in unison. My brother's cute when he's a bit pissed, happy, smiling. "Candy," she slurred. "This is my bro." Daniel made some feeble hand gesture, as he looked at her and tried to focus. He looked back at me. "Candy." "Josh," I said. They'd eyed each other off across the bar. She'd bought him a drink as a dare from the two slapper girlfriends she was with. One of his mates slip...

Marcus came over in his new black gym shorts to show us. He was pretty pleased with them, that was obvious.

I went to Preston for one thing and another. I dropped Daniel's VW GTI off at a mechanic for specialist tuning. He had to work and I didn't, so it seemed like a good thing for me to do. You know, get out of the house, see the suburbs, relieve the cabin fever, just a little. It seemed like an adventure and I haven't been to Preston for I can't remember how long. If the car had a tow bar, I would have put my bike on the back and ridden it home, but it doesn't. Besides, I kind of like the gentle attitude of public transport during the day, it is unhurried and relaxed. There is a meandering pace which is appealing – no hurry, just turn up and wait. I wasn't in any hurry, naturally, so no pressure to look at a time table. Well, there isn't much to see in Preston, let me tell you, other than getting there and then getting out, which makes it all worthwhile. As Nick likes to say to me – or is that, as I like to say to Nick – not everyone is a party boy poofter who ...

The doorbell sounded at 9am. I trotted to my front door behind Chubby, who was at the door long before I was. Track pants and a t-shirt and bare feet. I knew who it would be Anoop’s handsome face was looking at me when I opened the door. Bright eyes, big smile. “Hey-ho,” said Anoop. He bent down. “Chubby boy how are you?” “Hey,” I said. Chubby leapt about. “Chubby is pleased to see you.” “Why, aren’t you?” “No, no, I am. I’m happy to see you.” “Good to hear,” said Anoop. “Can’t have you talking through your dog like he is a ventriloquist doll.” I got down on the floor and pretended to stick my hand up Chubby’s arse. “Hello Anoop, I just want to tell you that Josh is pleased to see you too.” “I didn’t think I’d be standing here watching you fist your dog.” “The weeks are lonely, man’s best friend comforts me.” “Why are they lonely?” “No, they are not lonely,” I said. Anoop looked confused. “I was just trying to justify fisting Chubby’s arse.’ Chubby look from...

I stepped out on to the street and pulled my gate shut. The air was cold, I shivered. I pulled my collar up around my neck as my body shivered. It was early, the full veil of the morning hadn't quite lifted. The light was grey, a fine mist of rain fell. I had only taken a few steps when I heard, pad, pad, pad behind me. Then whoosh, a jogger whirled passed me. I stepped sideways and out of the way. I mean, he probably wasn't going so fast, more I was still on slow, no coffee yet, no heart starter to make me fully open my eyes. I heard him snort and pant, gasp in, exhale. I watched his legs, like springs, propel him past me. I watched his ankles flip up behind him and then push his feet to the ground, straightening as his shoes touched down on the bitumen. The backs of his wide-legged black shorts flapped with each step. The was a hint of his red jocks underneath hugging him tight. His arms swung rhythmically, matching his breaths. His back was straight, his head was up, he pran...

Lovely Jamie. He wasn't quite my first love, but I think he could have in a different time. He is a great guy, we could have been, really we could have been.

I flirt with the boy in the milk bar. He's a little, effeminate guy, very girlie. He usually has dyed hair, of assorted colours and a pout. He'd be in his early twenties. He smiles when he sees me. "How are you today?" he says. It's the way he says it, he manages to make it pregnant with meaning. "I'm good." "The usual?" He smiles. "Your usual?" "Yep, sure." "You know you should stop?" He turns to get the cigarettes. "Yeah, sure I do." I gaze at his arse, it's round and firm. He turns quickly and catches me. He smiles. I pull my wallet out and take out the money. "Because..." He drops his eyes to the front of my jeans and then looks up again. "They are bad for you." I hand him the money. "I know. Can't have them... damaging me." He smiles and turns to the cash register and gets my change. "No... that would be... a tragedy." "Thanks for the tip....

Nigel looks good in anything he wears, big or small. When you are as sporty as he is, it does your body good. Nigel has a great body.

The doorbell rang at 9.25. I glanced up at the clock, as I was in the kitchen in my tracksuit pants and t-shirt, which I wear to bed, making coffee. Daniel had just left for work. He works long hours so he doesn't head into work until kind of late. I was still half asleep. Who could it be, I thought? I padded to the door in bare feet, hoping it wasn't some power company representative who'd talk and talk and talk until I squeezed in between his breaths that I wasn't interested, probably twice before he shut up. Unless, he is pretty, of course, then I can stand and listen, probably for hours. That was how I ended up with that lesser power company that time, handsome Luke. I just walk up to the front door and look through the peep-hole, now a days, without trying to be any more quiet than I normally would be. If it is someone I don't want to speak to, I just walk away again, not caring a bit if they have heard me. Ah, bugger them, that's what you get from co...

Steve always hits me when I say this is his best angle. "Fuck off," he'll say. Steve doesn't have a bad angle. He looks good from every angle, and believe me I have viewed him from every angle.

Steve stayed last night. We went to see a play at the Fringe the tickets for which Nick gave me. We ate Thai, in Smith Street, before we went, walking there in plenty of time. The play was staged in an underground car park in Collingwood. I liked, I thought it was interesting. I liked it, but I love experimental theatre, I find it exhilarating, more often than not. Steve wasn’t so keen. We walked home, we Steve keeping up an anti play dialogue. We crashed into bed. I was awoken by Steve cuddling up to me. "You awake?" I opened one eye to see his handsome face right up close to mine. "Yeah, sure." I think I croaked. Then his mouth was brushing against my cheek, along my jaw line, over on top of me, kissing me, warm and wet. His sweet mouth. I bought my hand up and pushed my fingers through his thick hair. I rolled over on top of him and he wrapped his legs around me. "Fuck me, before I go to work." I kissed him long and slow. Our hard-ons pushed into each ...

It's a beautiful morning, Spring is in the air. I feel the warmth of it as I head around the corner for coffee and the newspaper at my local cafe. That smell, fresh, alive, it is unmistakable. The sun is warm. A lazy Wednesday, I think. Maybe, I should try and find some work, but my bank balance is still healthy and I wonder why, exactly, I might want to do that. That old conditioning is hard to shake. There are quite a few people having breakfast at my local, none of whom look very interesting. Does that translate into no cute men, I wonder? I scold myself for being so shallow. Not too harshly, though, you understand. Oh, go on, fat chick with the bad hair, thrill me. How about you Mr Baldi with spindly fingers, amaze me. What about you granny, blow my mind. I have eggs and two coffees and read The Age from cover to cover. I sit in the window and watch the world go by. Joggers. Dog walker. Women with prams. Gay boys, dare I say it, chatting gayly.

Kylie was a sad case. I don't think he ever got love in his life. He is always so needy. He'll just about do anything for anyone to get attention. I hear he's been, essentially, turning tricks. We should all lead an intervention, the trouble is we all lead busy lives.

I'm still smoking, I'm stupid, I know. I don't know why, but, I guess, that's why they call it an addiction. I meant to give it up when I gave up work, but that hasn't happened yet. I don't have yellow fingers or a cough, or anything. All my friends have stopped, I'm the last one. Stupid really. The president of the United States smokes, so I'm not the last one. Good company, if that makes any sense. I must try harder... a comment on life, really.

Our eyes first lock in the milk bar. He is ahead of me, he glances back, momentarily, smiles briefly. Nice eyes. I want that cheap orange juice, quality not price, that I love so much. It is my McDonalds, I can drink 2 litres of the stuff, no problem. He leaves the shop before me, I think he is just asking directions. I dilly dally deciding whether, or not, to buy the day old Helgas for one dollar, just as the nice milk bar lady is giving me back my change. I get the bread, so it all takes a bit longer. I don't know what he has been doing, but he is walking along the other side of the street. He'd be next to me if he'd been on the same side, as I walk home. He is pretty, Indian, probably around twenty. He has a back pack and baggy jeans. He doesn't look over at me for the longest time and I am forgetting him, when he deliberately turns his head to look at me, our eyes meet again and then he looks away. Yes, you're pretty, I've noticed you. He doesn't look ba...