Coda Josh Grant

“Faith gives people meaning.” “You can fool some of the people, all of the time. It is as simple as that.” “People need to believe.” “People want something in which to believe it seems to me that they don’t care too much what it is. They don’t care how implausible it is, they don’t really care what the details are, just tell them, and they will buy in, you know, if it means some idea of salvation, or whatever it is you want to call it.” “Faith is truth in the eternal.” “Eternal life, yeah sure, we’ll have some of that. You know, because the life on earth is so fleeting, and it really makes so little sense. All that investment, all that struggle and effort and in the end it means nothing. We all mean nothing. Fifty years, not even, and any meaning any of us had is wiped away like a sponge through a vegetable stain.” “Don’t you see, faith gives you meaning in life.” “So, anyone who offered us anything more than nothing and we are willing to buy in. Because that is essentially what religi...

Nick and I were doing Saturday morning breakfast together. We’d both ordered poached eggs with toast. We were drinking coffee. Nick had picked up a magazine when we got there. “Perhaps, I need to go back to uni? Learn something new? Get the brain thinking again?”  “Perhaps,” said Nick. He was leafing through a magazine and I wasn’t at all convinced he was really listening. “I've done a Masters of Law before I started at Gertrude's. So, I guess, that's the law side wrapped up.” “Oh, what for?” said Nick.  “To extend myself,” I said. “To give my brain a workout.” “Did you use a Masters of Law? Really?” “Erm? I’m a lawyer, hello,” I said. “But, did it benefit you?” asked Nick. “30k more a year in salary?” “Couldn’t you give you brain a workout with something more interesting?” said Nick. “Oh, I guess, if I was going to go to all that trouble, I’d do something completely different, maybe creative writing, or photography.” “Yeah, well,” said Nick. He turned the pages of the maga...

Ben and I were sitting up in bed eating toast and drinking coffee. Harley and Butch were both spread out on the end of the bed. Ben looked up from his iPad. He leaned back against the pillows and sighed. “Tell me a story you have never told me?” “A story I have never told you?” “Yeah,” said Ben. “Make it a good one.” “A good one?” I questioned. “You mean you want to hear a dirty story?” “Well, yeah, sure.” Ben smiled. “I really meant something QI, but now you have to tell me a dirty story.” I remember the back room at those dance parties, all hot and close and hushed, but not quiet at all really, with that underlying heaving and heavy breathing and the occasional groan and grunt. And smell of sweat and sensation of movement that wasn't movement at all, as such. I remember that one back room when I followed that guy inside and he walked over to a wall and stood there with his back to it.  And I thought what the hell and I want straight over to him and started kissing his soft lips a...

I met Carl at the bakery, he was running errands, is how he put it. I was getting sweet focaccias, my normal Saturday morning coffee accompaniment. I was heading out with my brown paper bags, as Carl was just coming in. I spun on my heel. He said he'd get his stuff and then he'd follow me home, saying something about not having seen me around.  "Huh?" "I haven't seen Daniel around just lately." We smoke half a joint, which I have in the ashtray in the kitchen, ready for after my orange and walnut focaccia. I put brewed coffee on, as Carl went cross-eyed.  "Pot always makes me feel great. And he does a little dance, right there on the tiled floor. He's an eager puppy. "It's my happy dance."  I can see the boy loves pot, it's good to see. He's beautiful. He's got the sexiest legs, on him, in his tan shorts. He's got hairy legs and he  just oozes sex appeal. "So, Daniel's not here, I'm guessing." ...

It was a short week. It just flew by until today, which seemed like three days in itself. I didn't have much to do, I should have just taken the afternoon off, but by the time I realised it was 4.30 and there did seem to be much point. But now it's over, so what do I care. "Let's go dancing," said Daniel. "You and me." Friday night is my night out of choice, now. That way I have two days to recover and not just one. If I go out on Friday night, when I come-to it is Sunday morning. If I go out Saturday night, the next thing I seem to know is that it is Monday morning. "Okay," I said. "Where?" "Take me to a gay bar," said Daniel. "You wanna pick up?" "No, not really."  "It kind of spoils the whole thing." "What are you going to do?" "Isn't a gay bar the best place to pick up girls." "I'm thinking that is an urban myth." "I've always wanted to test it ...

“Tell me Josh, Does a player deserve to possess anything of worth, since he chases everything in trousers and then imagines he can successfully hide his shame by slandering all those guys who chase anything in trousers?” said Carl. "Are you calling me a player?" "Well, Josh, you have to admit…" Carl raised his eyebrows. "I admit nothing." "It doesn't change anything." "Besides, I don't slander guys who, um, enthusiastically part take. I endorse it. What else is life for?" "Is that what you call yourself." “What? An endorser of freedom?” “No.” “That is what I call myself.” “It is not freedom, it is slavery.” “What? A slave to your feelings? “A slave to your base desires.” "And I don't have any shame to hide." "Don't you?" "No." "How many people have you slept with?" "I don't know." "Just roughly?" "I have no idea." "Perhaps, you shoul...