Monday Morning
Jake wakes with the early summer sun. He flicks the ignition key. The clock reads five-fifteen am. He flicks it off, winds down the wet window so he can see outside, and there it is. The house. Number thirty-eight.
When he brought Carla here the first time, she sang the little boxes made of ticky-tacky song.
Was he hurt? He knew she would hate it out here. Her heart was set on an old full-of-character Queenslander in the inner city. He told her this was a stepping stone. They could make money on it and move into a place she liked. It’s possible he was punishing her by bringing her here. The truth is he hoped she would grow to like it. The narrow winding roads ending in cul-de-sacs, the new white kerbs, the fake antique looking street lights, the houses popping up every we
