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Fucking sick of talking about Py.   There’s more to say, but it can bloody wait for now.


This morning I went to visit Kane.

Just now, at his work – down to the mall, into the food court, over to the counter that always smells of stale oil and human sweat – and let me tell you, the scents can be disturbingly similar (fucking disgusting – how do you people eat that fried fast food shit?)   Place was mostly empty: a few people munching sadly at poor substitutes for things resembling breakfast items, plus a couple of hungover and seriously aggrieved staff members pretending (albeit apathetically) to be tidying up.

Anyway, Kane saw me, flipped back the counter top, and (with a quick glance back to see the boss was fortuitously busy) crushed the paper cap-thing off his head and ducked behind a convenient pillar.


“Hey, man.   What are you doing here?   Want some food?”

I retch a bit (and it wasn’t all play-acting).

“Fuck no, dude.   You busy?”

He grins.

“Fuck no, dude. What’s up?”

“Nothing much.   Just thought I’d come by – haven’t seen you much.   How’s things with Carly?”

He leans against the pillar then, and his grin gets embarrassed.

“Oh yeah.   She’s good.   It’s good.   You know?”

I don’t.

“Sure, man.   That’s – awesome.”


“Hey – ”

(he ducks his head a bit…)

” – sorry I’ve been so into her lately… Shit – I mean – ”

(Kane blushing?   Geez…)

” – sorry that you and I haven’t been hanging out much.   It’s just – you know.   Hey – maybe we could catch a movie or something this week, yeah?   You know – ‘guys’ night’, and all that shit?”

I pause – and then I nod.


“Hell yeah, man.   It’s a fucking date.”

He laughs, and I laugh.   And then I say:

“You’re all right, man.   It’s all fucking good.”


And then I leave.




One Comment

  1. Man-date, gotta love it.

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