The House on the Corner

Like his mother, Emile Oliphant has always collected men. His mother called them her lovers. Emile calls them his life.

— Meet now?

— Do you have a place?

— No. Any ideas? I’m open.

— Bloubergstrand. The parking lot there?

— Give me twenty minutes. I’m in a blue Opel.

— White Golf.

— OK.

They met at the crepuscular beachfront. The stranger’s hand fell on his shoulder, and the frisson drew a gasp from Emile.

Continue reading: Johannesburg Review of Books

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s