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boys with backs that’ll break you apart

photograph of a city at night taken from a plane

iii: You were so cold, he said, that day I saw you. I lay on a mattress on the floor, and watched him dance like a miracle. Taut black back, tattooed and twisting. Hips swiveling.

iv: Speeding through a morning’s dark, sharing sugary coffee. Toward the water we were always hurtling. Hurling ourselves. For  waves. For fish. For life. For the stars. To the stars we span.

v. Surprise visits and soft-lipped kisses from another lautan asmara. Milky chance I stole her dance. Just a boy to go bump in the night with.

 

 

 

 

 

The Aftermath

You won’t know what’s hit you. A stage-hook wrapped cruelly around your neck, ripping you out of that white loom of light. You slip and skedaddle on wooden floorboards; kicking up your heels, petticoats lifted, knickerbockers flashing – the audience laughs and claps, comedy gold.

Roadrunner: you run. Off the top of a cliff, you run. Stalling mid-air, legs cycling (of course). Turn to the camera,  eyes wide in faux-surprise. Wooshka!

You sit all raggedy-anne amongst a backdrop of dust-coated boulders. An anvil follows (of course). You look up just before impact (of course).That slam-shiny metal crushes your face, flattening you to the floor. You spring up concertina like (of course), making sad wah-wah sounds as your ribs expand and contract. Wah wah wah wah

*Re-post

The fine art of cooking car

Ingredients:

1. One old car.

2. 41°C day

3. 1 broken thermostat.

4. One driver

5. One passenger.

6. A city

7. A set of keys. 

Take car to suburbia in 41°C. Get lost. Drive around. There is no air conditioner so you should now be in a low broil. Reverse and three point turn. Miss the turn off. Turn back. Park. Wait for passenger. Pick up passenger. Have passenger unable to read a map. Passenger should inexplicably be unable to hear or repeat Google map’s spoken directions. Passenger should talk non-stop whilst you attempt to hear Google map’s spoken directions. Drive to city. Drive to city. Drive to city. Make a left. Make a right. Ignore any rattle. Ignore any rattle. Ignore any rattle. Ignore that smell. It’s a hot day. Stall at lights. Try to restart. Try to restart. Yell out to local parking inspector for help. He should ignore you (it’s not his job). The women in the car behind you should throw up their hands in exasperation. Restart the car!! Drive, rattle, smell. Pull over when safe. Stop. Try to restart car. Drive to car park. Road to car park should be blocked for road works. Fuck. Drive around the block. Drive around the block. Twice. Pull into a car park. There should be no empty parking spaces. It should be narrow with no way out. You will need to reverse and hope like fuck the car don’t die here ‘cause every car in this car park will be trapped. Watch the steam rise. Listen to the rattle roar. Panic. FIND A PARK! Find a park. Park. Engine should now be well cooked.