Hi, Sean. How are you?

I’m not gonna lie, I could be better.

Ed told me you’re in Taipei.

Uh-huh.

That you actually did break your leg getting hit by a milk van.

Yep.

Sorry I didn’t believe you.

That’s okay. I get why.

I always wanted to go with you to Taiwan, remember? But you never wanted to.

Yeah, well maybe you can go with Tanner.

…

Ed told you?

Ed told me.

So you’re just going to dive in, no small talk?

Yep.

I fucked up, okay? I’ll admit it. I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have found out about Tanner that way.

You think?

I should have told you that night on my birthday. I was a coward. But you have to understand, you changed – ever since you lost your job. You just retreated into yourself. I tried, but I couldn’t do anything to help you. And you wouldn’t admit that you were depressed, so no one else could help you either.

…

Do you know what it was like? It was like being with a ghost. And I didn’t want to be with a ghost. Ghosts are cold.

…

I’m not making excuses, what I did was wrong. But there were reasons for doing what I did. Can you at least see that?

…

[What I want to say, is, Sure, I can see that, and I’m sorry for being such a rubbish boyfriend for the last year or so.

What I want to say, is, I was in a really bad place. All I ever do, every waking second of my life, is try to be the best at everything. Because it’s the only way I feel good about myself. I got fired, felt like a failure, and was probably depressed. No, for sure depressed. I should have listened to you. Will you forgive me?

What I want to say, is, I love you. I just want to fix it. I don’t care about Tanner. I just want to fix us.

Instead, what comes out is:]

What kind of a stupid name is Tanner, anyway? I bet his dick is bigger than mine, isn’t it? I bet the sex is better too, isn’t it? Why did you go out with me in the first place? You could have done so much better.

Goodbye, Sean. I hope your leg gets better soon.

T

HIRTY

-O

NE

Fuck.

T

HIRTY

-T

WO

Whatever marker pen the guy used was already running out, so the banner reading CUTS HURT in big red letters was faded. You had to really focus on it for a few seconds to make out the words – probably not what the guy underneath holding it wanted.

He looked beat up without being beat up. Pale with dark patches under his eyes. Like a panda.

But even though he looked like shit, you could tell he was mad – little globules of spit coming out of his mouth, frozen in time.

Here’s Tom, sweat leaping off his forehead like lemmings, splashing onto the photo of the angry panda teacher he’s eyeballing from a distance of two inches.

Can somebody, he says, straightening up, get the bloody air conditioning fixed? It’s hotter than my arsehole after a chicken vindaloo.

Around us, the paper’s staffers carry on. Keyboards tap, telephones trill, shouts shoot across the office from opposite sides.

Everyone hustling.

Fucking air conditioning, says Tom. You’d think one of the nation’s biggest broadsheets could at least keep its staff from melting.

For real, it wasn’t actually that hot.

Sean, says Tom. This teacher here, he’s out of focus.

I knew he was right, but hoped it wasn’t so bad that he’d notice.

He points to the other pictures spread out on the table. He says, This one’s out of focus, this one’s out of focus, they’re all out of focus. How can we show this strike if all the bloody pictures are bloody blurry?