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Quirky thought—reckon it smells like oil and regret inside. Exaggeratin’? Maybe, but I’d shag the exhaust if I could—pure lust! “Sharon!”—she’d kill me for sayin’ that. Escort’s like a mate who’s seen too much—rough, loud, loyal. Not perfect, nah—gearbox probs, leaky roof—but who gives a fuck? Character, innit?

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Back to work. I’m under a car, and I hear this kid yelling outside. I poke my head out, and there’s a bunch of kids playing footy on the street. They’re all hyped, and I’m like, “Man, I miss those days.” But then, one of ‘em kicks the ball, and it comes straight for me! I duck just in time. “Watch it, mate!” I yell. They just laugh. Kids these days, no fear.

Judith Lacy: Who Kneads Parnell or Khandallah?