Wednesday, May 4, 2011

Nothing good comes out of the country

You know....that dark old place up on the coast.
Lake...Whatchamacallit. I wouldnt even know where it is now....

Me, you ....a bunch of mates. The local pub.
Things get messy. They always do. There's a sense
of boredom in the air, but it's held at bay as if something hasn't been achieved..

Some kind of dreadful finality hasnt been reached. Cos at this age the end is always dreadful.
Especially up in the country.

We all head home, headed for his mum's liquor cabinet.
Some old bitch and her bull terrier has tagged a ride home with us.

Who the hell brought her back? What's she bangin on about?
For God's sake lady pipe down, and get out of here. We've got blue liquor to get through.

Bark bark bark, hack hack hack. Is that her or the dog?

Jesus. She's just slapped Matty. Square in the face. His cheeks
flush with the sting of it.

Dougy's arked up now and this is getting waaaaay out of hand. Way.

She takes a tumble down the stairs while he points her and her bitch to the door.
She's yellin out me ankle, me ankle!!!

Yelling recriminations about who's family owns what part of the town and that we'd hear from her again.

Fuck. Straight away I imagine bein stuffed into a barrell, an arm growing out of my ass, while some Hells Angel
inflicts cigar burns into Geoffy's bum....

The dog hacks away right at the door until their screech fades into the thickness of the crickets
out there in the bushland.

Fuck I hate the country. I hate the fuckin country and all those who dwell within it.

Nothing good comes out of the country. Not when you're 18.

The party shuts down, the lights turn off, Matty rubs his cheeks and Dougy takes a nip of Southern Comfort from
his pa's hip flask.

Fuck this.

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