“Ohhh that’s nice, what do you call this?” asks the visiting suburban matriarch.

Jason wipes his mouth with a napkin and casually explains to his mother that they are drinking a skin contact summer wine.

“It’s called rosè” says Jason.

Like hundreds, possibly thousands of millenialls that have relocated to Betoota’s inner-city French Quarter for university and metropolitan employment, Jason Vaugh (29) lives in a slightly crowded sharehouse and spends his weekend’s drinking ALDI beer. That’s if he’s got the left over $25 for a carton at the end of the week. If he doesn’t, then his housemates pool money together to buy a stick of weed and play xBox all weekend.

Knowing that his mum barely even understands his job in ‘media’ – Jason feels obligated to relieve her of any concerns that her son might be living below the poverty line. He’s decided to do that with a non-pub-lunch.

He’s rolling the dice on missing rent next week by taking his mother out to lunch. For “whatever she feels like”.

“Ohh the calamari looks nice” says his mum, angling for a mid-priced meal but still something that is way fancier than she would ever get out in Betoota Heights.

“Yeah. Umm. I’ve had it before. It’s good” lies Jason.

“You know what is also really good. The hand cut truffle potatoes”

His mother looks confused.

“Isn’t that just a side of chips” she asks.

Jason smiles and giggles nervously.

“Nah they are like a kipler salad thing, I think. Can’t remember actually. Maybe that was another restaurant.”

Jason quickly regathers from his attempt at haggling down the price of today’s meal. He commits to missing rent.

“Oooh look at the swordfish steak. That’s what I’m getting”


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