MY YOUNGER brother was given his own social worker. His name was Geoff. I never had much to do with him but I didn’t like him so much. Maybe I was jealous.
Maybe I liked my social worker, the big, fat, hairy man better.
Or maybe I wasn’t impressed that Geoff didn’t visit Abe so much because he didn’t like travelling 1okm on the dirt road with his car.
One time the four of us went camping together near South West Rocks. That night we hung out in a bar where it was kids karaoke. I sung The Gambler.
“You have a nice voice,” an old lady lied.
Breakfast was bacon and eggs. One of the eggs had a dead chicken inside it. We went back home soon after. And everyone lived happily ever after. The end.