EFFIE BATEMAN | BRISBANE | CONTACT
A local grot has gone full Mary Poppins, courtesy of a suggestive late-night text.
Sam Haynes  says he’d been sitting in his bed eating dusting off a packet of Doritos when his phone started buzzing.
He’d been expecting another message from his group chat only to find that Jessica, one of his Tinder matches, wanted to ‘know what he was up to? ;)’
“I wasn’t expecting a bite to be honest,”
“But 10 pm on a Monday night? That’s pretty keen.”
Sam sends back a ‘nothing much, you?’ only for the conversation to get more promising.
“Yeah, she said she was feeling a bit bored and wanted to get out of the house for a little bit.”
“I mean I’m no Einstein but I can put two and two together.”
After confirming that it was in fact ‘on’ Sam comes to the realisation that his room is a fucking pigsty.
A quick sweep through his inventory concludes that the mystery smell he’d been ignoring the past few weeks either comes from the homemade bong on his bedside table or his unwashed, sweat-encrusted sheets.
With little time to get ready, Sam has no choice but to get tactical.
“You know what I reckon if I throw a doona on it it’ll mask the smell a bit.”
Our reporter leaves Sam alone to shovel some mystery tissues under his bed, muttering something about spraying some Axe body spray just in case.
More to come.