It was a shock to learn the Bible bashers were right. There is life after death! But it's not the Heaven and Hell of their sermons. There's no omnipotent being, fire and brimstone, or paradise of milk and honey. Just eternal existence in the afterlife. I ended up here after watching footy on the TV with Peggy.
Tyson leaned against the bar, waiting for his cocktail and staring at his reflection in the mirror above the drinks display. A late-thirties sales manager on the rise, he wore a few smile lines and flecks of grey, but thankfully, there was no sign of a receding hairline. Tyson winked at himself. With luck, he wouldn't leave the singles bar alone tonight.
I enjoyed the pub last night, chatting with old friends, and I wish Ellie had joined us. But I should have listened to her, drank less, and popped a blocker. I'll get no sympathy from Ellie today, waking with a hangover and viral thoughts I feel compelled to share.
The job offer notification pops up on my phone early on Christmas Eve. It's a short-term role helping with overnight deliveries. The regular delivery driver has hurt his back and needs an offsider for heavy lifting. Once, I would have declined the job and spent Christmas Eve with my kids.
My hearse is lost. I'd like to let the mourners know that, for once, this debacle is not my fault. But my spirit is tethered to my body until they lower the coffin into the grave and bury it. And communicating with the living would be difficult unless someone brings a Ouija board to the funeral.
On the steps of Parliament House on Remembrance Day, 11 November 1975, the Governor-General of Australia's Official Secretary read a proclamation signed by Sir John Kerr dismissing Prime Minister Gough Whitlam's Labor government. When he had finished, Whitlam strode forward and delivered his response.
Your William Shakespeare crafted clever lines with hidden meanings, like, "All the world's a stage." It's as if he had insight into my five-act play on my pet subject, humanity. Act One: Earth is a Garden of Eden. A troop of apes descends from the trees and totters on two legs on the African savannah.
Dad probably hoped to take his secrets to the grave, but a heart attack scuppered his plans. "Will you come back for the funeral, Aaron?" my sister, Becky, asked when she called with the news. "Yes, of course," I replied. "And can you stay a few days to help Mum and me tidy up Dad's stuff?"
I'm not anti-woke, but the interview line-up in reception for the call centre job looks like your typical twenty-first-century checklist to ensure unsuccessful applicants can't sue the company for discrimination. For a start, the six serious candidates are split fifty-fifty between males and females.
