There's punk out there, in the suburbs. Stands to reason I guess. I mean where do old punks go?
He came to fix up our neighbours fence or something. Late 30's maybe, big, friendly looking guy. We played him Aus-Rotten and Tragedy at a horrendous volume; accidentally of course as we weren't aware of his presence until he played some Dead Kennedys on his old paint splattered tape deck.
Holy shit. But, that's our music, ours.
“Hey there's someone playing Jello; outside.”
A stranger, outside. Should have seen the jaws drop round here, all the sly peeping through the old net curtains.
“He's old.”
"Fucken' straight-as eh.”
"I wonder where he's from?”
Jeez; what, were you thinking Mars or something? He's from right here of course. Right here.
just found this - deep in the bowels on an old memory stick. Was supposed to be some sort of intro piece to the short-story collection, but better late than never...
ReplyDelete