EFFIE BATEMAN | Lifestyle | Contact
As John Taylor [76] cracks open a beer and surveys the beautiful mountains from his verandah, he finds himself letting out a low chuckle.
What a turbulent couple of years it had been.
It felt like only yesterday that he’d been in fear of his life, coming to terms with the fact that not only was he a walking comorbidity with all his self induced ailments but he hadn’t lived long enough to see any of his daughters bear him a grandson, which was the only way he could ensure his immortality.
Of course, none of this would be possible without the sacrifice of the younger generation, who’d all been implored to stay inside to stop the spread of covid, seeing as the virus had a disproportionate effect on people his age.
Luckily for John this consideration for life has allowed him to live enough to take advantage of an even more inflated housing market, when all the desperate families drain their super to buy a house and he can sell one of his shitbox investment properties for ten times their value – leaving him with an even bigger cash reserve for when he retired.
Yes, this all worked out rather nicely for John. Perhaps he’ll get a boat? Or the Pontiac Firebird he’d been obsessed with as a teen.
Fuck it, why not both?
Anything was possible, really.
More to come.
