Short Story: Flatmate (Pt. X)

He wasn’t all that smart. And he would always make this wincing face – kinda like he’d suddenly been forced to eat up all of the shit he talked. A pained expression, twisted grimace and a quick twitching shake of the head. And the Bogan that lived on the couch would answer the phone with a gruff “yep. Yet. Yep. Yet.” And then he’d just call out, to the …