The Long Gray Guy Who Helped Me Get a Taxi

Stuart woke up in his lounge room floor, his shirt stiff with dried blood. His face felt swollen and he knew he must look awful. Cheryl helped him up onto the couch and brought him a cup of tea. She had suffered postnatal depression and he was terrified every day it would come on again. He saw it behind her eyes sometimes. In the droop of her mouth, a wash of sadness. Those were the times he tried harder to lift her up. The TV producers sent over a copy of your interview. Sarah and I have already watched it twice. Won't have a look. You come across really well. Geez, I'm a smart arse, aren't