The Fine Color of Rust by Paddy O'Reilly

online dating in Victoria. I hesitate on that page awhile.
    â€œIt’s not only weirdos,” Helen told me once. “Some blokes look quite handsome. Although that does seem to be mainly the shorter ones. Anyway, you don’t have to do anything. It’s soft-core girl porn.”
    I select Rural southwest and Male and Over six feet and Doesn’t matter about children. Then Go. The screen comes up with five photos on the first page and a big list of other hits. One hundred and forty-two single men in rural southwest Victoria? This deserves a green icy pole and another shot of Johnnie.
    I read about Jim, who likes long walks on the beach and romantic dinners. Jim lives in Shepparton in central Victoria, many hours’ drive from the beach. Giuseppe has two grownchildren and likes working out. Mel loves movies and romantic dinners and golf, and would like to share his wonderful life with a special lady. Joe’s looking for a happy busty lady with no issues. Good luck, Joe.
    As I scroll down the list I start finding these people funnier and funnier. Matthew’s spent a lot of time working on his spirituality and he’d like to meet a woman with the same interests so they can grow together. Like a fungus, I think. Shelby would like a petite Asian lady with large breasts who’s open-minded and looking for a good time. Hey, Shelby, most of the men in this town pay good money for that. I open up my password-protected email and send Helen a message. Looking for a handsome wealthy man with no issues and a Beemer. Must love slumming it and buying expensive presents for the lady in his life, and have no objections to feral children.
    I slump back into the kitchen chair, which is a few inches too short for the computer table. My neck hurts. The screen in front of me has ads all over it. Casinos, jobs, real estate. Maybe I should look for a new house to rent, one that doesn’t heat up to 400 degrees. Thinking about real estate reminds me of the hole in the bush on the Bolton Road.
    I type Gunapan development into the search bar. You get thousands and thousands of answers in these searches and none of them are what you want. The council minutes are online. That should send me off to sleep. The local supermarket’s car park resurfacing process is described in glorious detail. I cannot understand why these things would be on the internet. I find the council’s forms for applying for a building permit. I try another search, this time on Gunapan bush. Then I type in more place names from the local region combined with development and then I try bush clearing and then something else and by this time I’m pretty tired of it but I clickthrough to one more page and that’s where I find the article.
    It doesn’t have Gunapan in the title, or even in the article, which is from a newspaper in Western Australia, and which is talking about a resort development to take place on twelve hectares outside Halstead. Outside Halstead? The map in the article shows where the development will take place and I can see that it’s the old bush reserve in Gunapan, but our town isn’t mentioned. Only a few lines about how the development may help to revive the depressed small community nearby. Depressed! The only depressed person here is Brenda, and even she picks up during the Gunapan Fair.
    The company building the resort is a Western Australian developer with successful resorts in Queensland, WA and the Territory, as well as significant investment in plantation forestry and logging. I want to print this page out but the printer’s still in Melissa’s room.
    â€œMum?”
    The cry comes from down the hall. Jake’s awake.
    â€œMummy.”
    He only calls me Mummy when he’s frightened. I clean up the browser and close it down, then hurry to Jake’s room, taking deep breaths to expel the smell of Johnnie from my mouth. Jake’s nightlight is on, a rotating globe with fish