I stopped for petrol at a Shell service station that was nestled beneath the highway overpass. It was midnight, and the station was only illuminated by the distant orange lights of overhead street lamps, and the occasional white-hot flash of a car rudely rounding the bend with its high-beams on. I’d been listening to Cream on the radio as they crooned about someone named Ulysses. The album had gone platinum…
Sci-fi and fantasy author based in Brisbane, Australia.