Holiday

Marlon Brando“Shit! Who is that?” I carefully put my beer down on the floor where the wet patch was. Who the hell would be knocking on my door, especially at three o’clock in the afternoon in Melbourne on the first Tuesday in November? I went toward the front door, but then hesitated. Should I answer it? It wouldn’t be anyone I know, it couldn’t be. No one from work ever visited me, my parents lived out of town, and my brother only rang, dutifully, about once every six months, even though he lived just a few suburbs away. He never invited me to any of his parties.

I could just go and sit down again. It must be a salesperson trying to get me to change my phone company. I made a step back toward the lounge room.

BANG! BANG!

Shit! That was loud! I pulled the door open in reflex.

“Hey there, buddy.”

“Buddy?” I had never seen this person before. He stood over six-foot tall, dressed in black motorbike leathers. 

The rest of this delightful story by Alex Hogan can be read here.

This entry was posted in fiction, gay, short story, Uncategorized and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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