… a posse burnt the homestead down … a bullet grazed his nose … came out his right eye socket …
Behind Perspex, a bus driver streams US true crime, so weird we’re laughing like we’re young
and high. The next bus gets lost and a beautiful man, gangster-chic, taps his phone
to guide the driver in pavement-bashing u-turns. Time’s gone warm wormhole chaos
like forty years ago. And then it’s not. We’re back in the clean, clean centre (that used
to smell of vomit, rotting fruit), where snake-rail prowls cbd canyons, splitting giant malls of cheap stuff
from stores with $750 t-shirts. I’m going to do jack shit today, one says. Mission accomplished
on the back (with fucking frayed necks). Reminding us that when you first go sober it’s only
the beginning, a start, growing cash for cash sake being a bit stink
