It’s morning.

After Lisa and I wake, we lie in the foetal position, facing each other with our foreheads touching, kissing sometimes, and I keep looking at her arse because she’s got a really good arse, and I want to tell her how good it is but I don’t want to seem sleazy, and then I can’t help myself and I put my hand on her arse — like, I cup it, and say, ‘You have a really good arse.’

Lisa says, ‘I’m glad that you like it.’

And I say, ‘It’s amazing.’

We kiss again.

She says, ‘I’m gonna have a really quick shower.’

And I say, ‘Okay.’

I lie on her bed and look at Facebook.

Two of my friends have liked a photo by something called The Inquisitr.

There is a caption that reads: ‘This is what happens when a peeping tom gets caught by the dad of the fifteen-year-old girl of whom he was peeping. Like if you’re glad Dad kicked his BUTT!’

In the photo the guy’s face is all black and blue, and one of his eyes in swollen shut.

Someone has commented, ‘Beat dad ass.’

And someone else has commented, ‘Love it … pity they only got one eye if u ask me … well done who ever did it J’

I hear Lisa in the shower.

In the notes section of my iPhone, I start writing this story about when I flew to Los Angeles and walked around the airport:

when i got off the plane at LAX, my face felt itchy. i walked to the bathroom and stared at my face. there were lots of pimples with little white things coming out of the pimples. i thought: my face. my breathing went from breathe, breathe, breathe to breathebreathebreathe and i thought: if i can just get rid of the little white things. i started dabbing the little white things with my t-shirt but it didn’t really do anything. nah. it just hurt.

behind me a fat man was trying to pee, but he couldn’t pee so he just kept jingling up and down. i think he had coins in his pockets. i kept looking at my face. i kept hearing: jingle, jingle, jingle. i kept thinking: my face. at some point the jingling stopped and i looked away. i could hear him coming though. because of his wheezing. every couple of seconds he’d wheeze, ‘heh, heh’ in this raspy, texan way. when he got next to me he didn’t do anything for a while. then he poked my shoulder. i looked at him and he said, ‘zinc, heh, hehhhhhh.’ i said, ‘what?’ he said, ‘heh, or magnesium, heh,’ sort of pointing, then jabbing, at my face. his finger hit my face. like, the side of it. it hurt. i took a step back and he took a step forward. he said, ‘heh, you need magnesium pills for your face.’ he stared at me. he went, ‘hehhhhhhh.’ he stopped staring at me. i watched him bend over and put his hands on his knees. he went, ‘heh, heh, argggghh.’ he rubbed his bladder. i said, ‘are you okay?’ and he went, ‘hehhhhh,’ punching his bladder with his fist. he said, ‘heh, maybe in an hour, heh, heh.’ he walked out of the bathroom. i splashed water over my eyes.

I stop writing.

Lisa comes back with a plate of avocado and tomato toast, and we lie on her bed.

She bites her toast.

I bite my toast.

It’s nice.

I say, ‘Did you always live in Melbourne?’

And Lisa says, ‘No, I grew up on the coast.’

I say, ‘Did you surf?’

And Lisa says, ‘I used to surf a bit. I mean, I always hung out with guys growing up, and they’d surf so I’d do that too.’

‘What was it like?’

Lisa pauses. Then she says, ‘It was mostly good. I dunno. There were lots of fuckheads, I guess.’

I say, ‘What do you mean?’

And Lisa says, ‘All the guys wanted girls who were blonde and tanned with big tits and, I mean, I didn’t even like any of them, but I just felt ignored or something, ’cause I have red hair and I’m skinny and really pale.’

And I don’t know what to say so I don’t say anything.

She says, ‘I dunno. People just thought they could say things to me like I didn’t matter, or treat me in a certain way because they thought I was weak.’

‘What would they say?’

‘Just things like, “I’d probably fuck you,” or they’d call me a ranga, stupid shit like that.’

And it makes me feel angry that people did that.

I say, ‘I’m sorry.’

Lisa says, ‘I’m fine now — like, I’m really good. I’ve got great friends and everything. I’m just really glad I got out.’

And I know exactly what she means, but I don’t want to tell her because the idea that anyone can know ‘exactly’ what anyone else means is dumb.

I look at Lisa.

She looks beautiful.

There’s a white wall behind her and her face is lying on a green pillow.

And whether she’s on the green pillow and off the green pillow I think: you are beautiful.

Lisa says, ‘Hey.’

And I say, ‘What?’

Lisa says, ‘I like you. Okay? I don’t, umm, like playing games, so I just thought I’d tell you.’

And I my heart goes from beat, beat, beat to beatbeatbeat and I say, ‘I like you too.’

Taking her hand and holding it a while, looking down while smiling.