Idle Sin

I illegally deliver escorts over the border. For this I make shitloads. Tax free. My address, if you can find it, is a kitset shack, the middle of a cow paddock, overlooking a valley of golden cane fields. Colourful, with little inhibitions, hookers drink on the job, are opinionated and weather endless personal problems. Some would have you believe their altruistic purposes are comforting lonely soles, raising the spirits of disabled men and saving marriages. Trust me, it’s all about the easy dollar. My friends aren’t much better. Brendan, businessman and brothel owner, buries suitcases of cash in the paddock; Telly, another driver, possesses a sarcastic wit dryer than most; and Fastlove, fellow observer of the chronically irreverent human condition. You could say my lifestyle is a tad unconventional. I’m just trying to get through each day more or less unscathed. Sometimes that’s not easy.