From: Cristina Regep
To: Jones Brixton
Date: 28/8/2004

One entry? i dont usually wite entries about the same thing. pansy, i lied to you so i wouldnt have to tell the truth. some things were hard for me to understand and handle, even now there are things i dont say, but they are things i wouldnt say to myself…If i’d hurt you a long the way, im sorry, but the past is a shadow at most. I got myself within odd situations, i’d made someone believe i loved them, that i wanted to marry them, simply because of my own mind being fogged at the time – i dont even blame scott, he only turned bad when i turned around one day and said “i dont actually love you at all and id prefe it if you left me a lone” – it was true, i didnt love them, and because i had never truly loved anyone in the past, i found it hard to understand why he was so upset. an idiot though he is.

Trust me, and im sure you know, im as imperfect as the ord allows, but im not fake and thats something ive never been, not towards you anyway.

regardless, i hope we stay friends throughout the years…you dont need to know every fragment of my past to be a friend, and you dont have to think im an illusion unless it makes you feel better.

i always was who i said i was, minus a few elements. aight?

From: Jones Brixton
To: Cristina Regep
Date: 28/4/2004

>hmm i was drunk when i read that email last night. now i’m hung over and it
>still confuses me. go figure.
>i’ll talk to you about this some other time.

From: Cristina Regep
To: Jones Brixton
Date: 30/4/2004

you’re weird. seriously. i dont know what you’re cut about. i never lied to you about anything important, not even semi important. you’re cut up about what exactly? that i didnt go into detail? or that i didnt mention the mistakes i’d made in regards to scott etc because yeah i was clouded in my own fog but hey, thats something a lot of people are guilty of at some bad stage in their life.

You sometimes get on this high horse as though youve never had a bad period in your life when you wanted to block out, or at least not talk about..stuff. If you can’t relate to that then im pretty glad because its not really something i’d wish upon people. But hey, i saw the error, i
apologised, if you can’t accept that and still insist on my fakeness, when the only thing i was fake about is the shit i left out, then kudos to you

From: Jones Brixton
To: Cristina Regep
Date: 30/4/2004

>i’m not cut up. i was confused. and drunk. being confused isn’t the same as
>being cut up. in fact, they’re rather different.
>anyway, you can lie all you want. i don’t mind.

From: Cristina Regep
To: Jones Brixton
Date: 30/4/2004

no offense to you, and im sure that due to the thickness of your skin you wouldnt take it as offense anyway, but even if i had lied to you constantly about everything, even if i’d told you i was the princess of norway and i owned 400 hot air balloons, you still wouldnt deserve as much as my spit on your face. Has anyone told you youre pompously annoying? An infantile mind who thinks to much of himself and his feelings? a shell of a human who hides behind some facade bigger than any i ever created. I mean ok, when i met you i thought you were ‘ok’, at one stage i liked you, that passed and i thought “hey youve known someone for this long, might as well stay friends’…but youre the type of person that sees everything in light of how it affects him. And i only thought kids thought the world revolved around them.

In all honestly, i dont really give a flying pigs tendon if i ever see your name or not, its just sad to be called a lier by someone who is as hopeless as you. To be honest, if i was covered in shit, lost both my legs, had a spear through my right ear and dog snot on my lip, i’d still be a league higher than you. anyway, see ya, take care, and thanks for putting a fast track on it.

“Do you talk to any of them?” said my boss, Kendricks.

“I catch a train home with one of the girls.”

“Which one?”

“The cute one.”

“There’s a cute one who works in Appco?”

“Hell yeah there is.”

Strawberry blonde hair… Freckles. Skinny. Her name was Cindy… Shortly after that, Kendricks transferred me to Appco because I wasn’t making any sales in charity.

Norton was my new boss. He was about an inch shorter than me, with a voice half an octave deeper. Listening to his morning meetings would half send us to sleep. We wondered how he made so many sales – probably sent his customers into some sort of hypnotic trance.

Then a lot of times we would skip the meeting and just go for coffee in Hunter Street mall, like that Friday when Norton first introduced me to the team.

“This is Juan. This is Ambrose. This is Pauly. Charlotte. Olga. And this guy we just call Pads.”

“Padmavati. Pleased to meet you.”

We went out into the mall and holed up outside Gloria Jeans.

I suppose Cindy was off sick that day, because Pauly started in front of everyone. “I took pictures.”

“Of what?”

“Of Cindy.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah, of course. Want to see? I took videos too.” he said to Norton.

Norton considered it deeply.

“Yeah, alright.”

I didn’t look.

We needed to spend a week in Sydney to get training for the new Sintelco campaign. We stayed at the YHA. We were all together in one dorm, guys and girls. Cindy was on the far right side, top bunk. Pauly was on the bottom bunk. I was on the near left side, on the top bunk.

I was having a conversation with Cindy about some bullshit.

“So it’s must easier when you know and have been, etc, and so on, know what I’m saying?”

“Ha yeah, and then they ansdn difnmkb kxm…”

“They what?”

“They ………….”

“I couldn’t hardly make out a word of that”

“Yeah, I can’t hear you either. Want me to come over there?”

“Ha yeah right. As if that’s ever going to happen.”

She didn’t say much after that. It was just me being cocky-funny. Not yet socially aware enough to realise that this girl was offering herself, and all I had to do was say “Okay,” and I would get laid, in the same dorm room as all of my new workmates. Later, when I understood who she was a little better, I was relieved I hadn’t accepted her gracious offer. Even from that scene – to put it together piece by piece – Suzanne had a boyfriend, and was there in a dorm room in a bunk above the guy with whom she was cheating, and was hitting on me as well. Wow.

I went to sleep.

An hour or so later I woke up.

“What are you doing?” she said.

And then he said: “I’m going.”

“Why?”

Silence.

“I’m going.”

Footsteps. Door opened. Door closed.

I went back to sleep, and when we woke up, Pauly was gone.

Sitting next to Cindy in training, I looked over at her notebook.

Later, as we were breaking for lunch, I said to her: “Is your last name… Chamberlain?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Hm… That explains everything.”

And I walked off. I overheard her bitching about it to Ambrose. She sounded so puzzled, like she didn’t really know what it meant, but suspected the worst.

Chamberlain was the name of two sisters I had known from Maitland. Madison was the eldest, blonde, and had a reputation for dating just about any guy. About six years earlier, I was seventeen. I’d met Madison at an underage nightclub, the Ace of Spades. She was tall, gorgeous, model material, with a huge smile and big-ass teeth. I was like a rock-star at these things, because I dance like a nutcase (and still do). Nobody knew what to make of it, but everybody could see that I didn’t give a shit what anybody thought of me, as long as I was on the dancefloor. Off the dancefloor, I was still awkward and didn’t understand a thing about girls.

“Can I get your number?” I said to Madison as she walked off with her friends through the carpark.

“Really?” she said.

“…Yeah.”

I got her number and called her as soon as I could work up the courage.

“Oh… I don’t know if I can go out that night Jones… I’ve got a lot of exams coming up.”

“Oh… okay.”

The next time I saw her, she walked right up to me at the Ace with her friends and said, smile beaming, “Hey! I finished all my exams.”

“Good for you,” I said. “I hope you get into your course at uni.”

“Uh… yeah, me too.”

I walked off. Six months later, I slapped myself on the forehead.

Then there was another time, I was twenty-four. I walked out of Fanny’s on a Wednesday night and walked towards the train station. I’d been talking to girls all night and was really hyped up. I don’t even know if I’d made out with any girls, but I’d probably went for the make out with at least ten. Walking up the road I saw a familiar face. I kept walking towards her “Hey!” I said with a smile, grabbed Madison and made out with her for five seconds.

“Wow… hey… who? Oh, it’s you Jones!” I got her number again, though, again, I never really followed that through to its inevitable conclusion.

Moxie was the youngest sister, a brunette, and I’m not really sure if she was as into free-love as the other two – however, the last time I saw her she had a shaved head, so for the sake of this story we’ll assume she swings both ways. She was kind of cute and a little chubby, but, also for the sake of this story, we’ll assume her body was out of this atmosphere, and fingerbanged mad lesbians every weekend. Awesome!

So I guess Cindy must have been the missing link in this daisy chain of sisterly love. In the end, it turned out Cindy was the black sheep of the family.

“Chamberlain?”

“Yeah… why?”

“That explains everything.”

“What?? What is that supposed to mean?”

“Everything. It explains everything.”

I don’t think Cindy really talked to me for the rest of the training. Driving back to Newcastle in Norton’s troopy, Cindy started reciting a list of lovers like it was a line of descendants from the book of Genesis: “Then when I left billy for thommy. Later I left Thommy for Christian. Billy was so jealous…”

A few weeks later while Juan was driving us out to the field, he told me a story where Cindy had come over to his place after work for dinner or something, then his mum was like “Okay it’s getting late – I think it’s time for you to go home.” And Cindy tried to talk her way into staying in Juan’s bed. It was the only time Juan has ever been happy about his mum cockblocking him.

O’Riley sat in the interview room before a panel.

“So, tell us a little about your previous position.”

“I was working for SalesPower in the JetFlights campaign in Carlton.”

“Oh really – my son works there at TransLink, on level three. Do you know Andlin?”

“Uhhhh…”

She had thought the interviewer looked familiar.

Seven months earlier she had taken Andlin home to her place, her parent’s place. Andlin, O’Riley and her coworker Tenille piled out of the cab. O’Riley’s mum was away in the UAE on business so they had the place to themselves.

O’Riley and Andlin got to the bedroom. They had sex for about five minutes.

“Ugh.”

“Ughh.”

“Ughhh.”

He pulled out.

“Hey, can I come on your chest?”

“…Okay.” She said. The subtitles read: Sure, whatever, this was obviously a bad decision, so just do whatever you have to do so I can go to sleep.

Andlin was perched over O’Riley, doing the five-knuckle shuffle. O’Riley tried to be encouraging.

“Come on baby, come for me all over my chest… et cetera.”

Ten minutes later the alarm went off for O’Riley to go to work. Snooze button. It went off three more times, and Andlin was still there using all his might, to try to relieve the tension.

“Hang on a minute,” she said. “I have to call in sick for work.”

He continued to stroke, but slowed down the pace a bit, waving his member in her face while she spoke to her boss.

“I don’t think I’ll make it in today.”

“Are you drunk? You’re drunk, aren’t you?”

“Yes… can we talk about this another time please?”

“HahhahAHAHAha… okay, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Stroke-time: forty eight minutes and thirty-two seconds. He finally made it: pure white snow all over her chest piece.

“Finally.”

They both rolled over.

“You know… I don’t feel so hot,” he said.

“Yeah I’m hungover too.”

“No, it’s not that… I have a headache.”

“I have some Panadol around here somewhere.”

“No, it’s not that kind of headache. My left side is numb… I can taste metal.”

“Oh.”

“I think I’d better go to the hospital.”

“…oh.”

O’Riley showed Andlin to the door. She stood there in her onesie waiting for the taxi with him. Not a lot you can say in that situation, really. He got in the taxi and left. O’Riley walked back in and shut the front door.

“What the fuck was that?” shouted Tenille from the couch where she was trying to get to sleep.

“Urgh… can’t we talk about it in the morning?”

“It’s 8 am.”

“Whatever… just let me sleep.”

Three months later, O’Riley sat down in training.

“Hey!” said Andlin. “Can I sit with you?”

“Uhh…”

“Good to see you!” he said as he said down. “Don’t worry about the thing, I’m okay. It was just a brain-bleed. No lasting damage. Hey do you mind if I get lunch with you?”

“Uhh…”

“Okay awesome I’ll come with… anyway – ” Andlin continued to tell his life story for the last three months.

Another three or four months later, she sat down for an interview in front of three panelists, and that’s where we came in, folks.

“Do you know Andlin?” asked Andlin’s father. “He’s worked there for nearly a year now.”

How do you respond to that? Yeah, I know your son – I nearly fucked him to death one time, funny story.

“Uhh… oh. No. I don’t think I ever met him.” Oh fuck.

“I see. Well I think I’ve heard enough, unless the panel has any more questions.”

The panel responded negatively in murmurs.

A few days later, O’Riley got a call offering her a job.

“Come on dude, we’ll go to the Gold Coast for the weekend; it’ll be sweet. Flights are cheap right now – up and back for $150 – I already checked it out. It’ll take your mind off things.”

“I dunno… I think I’d rather stay at home and drink Coopers feeling sorry for myself. I downloaded the new season of Dexter. Maybe I’ll just crawl into foetal position and cry.”

“Fuck that shit man. Don’t be a pussy. The world offers a lot of possibilities for a young single man. Like midget stripper threesomes.”

“Man… Even if I wanted to I couldn’t. I’m strapped.”

“Relax baby. I just got my tax return and I can cover the flight for you. Vamos, puta madre. I’m booking the flights now.”

“Urgh… okay.”

The plane hit the ground with a cringeworthy whirrgedewhirredethunkathunk. Anton jumped into a cab. Johnston fell into the same cab, and rubbed his eyes. They checked into the hotel. It was seven p.m. on Friday.

Johnston took a nap, and Anton woke him up by ordering a pay-per-view adult feature.

“OH… ARrghh… Yeah fuck me… fuck my ass good. AOohhhr!”

“Dude what the fuck? What is this shit?”

“…Asian Anal Happytime Four.”

Johnston covered his head with a pillow. “Motherfucker… I don’t even like Asian chicks.”

“Come on dude it’s past nine. Put on a collared shirt and let’s go.”

Johnston got dressed and sprayed on Jean-Paul Gaultier Pour Homme. “Let’s go to that place that looks like a log cabin from the inside. They play deep house.”

“They play commercial crap. That place is full of Wapanese tourists with cameras around their necks. Let’s go to Melba’s.”

Anton threw a condom at Johnston, who barely caught it, between two fingers. He studied the packet for a moment.

“Make sure you strap up. Statistics show that one in five young people have chlamydia.”

“I think at this stage I’m more likely to give a girl chlamydia… That fucking whore.”

“Yeah… It’s okay dude. We’re in the magical kingdom of paradise, and every fruit is yours for the tasting. Let’s go taste some magical fruit.”

Shoes. Door. Cab. Queue. ID. Drinks.

“Can I get two rusty nails please?”

“Sure… if you can tell me how to make one.”

“One part Scotch whisky… one part Drambuie, on the rocks.”

“Here’s to freedom,” said Johnston.

“Exactly. Here’s to freeballing… Feels good man. You should talk to that chick over there.”

“What, the troll with the three moles on her face?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“For a warm-up.”

“This isn’t little athletics.”

“You’ve been out of the game for a long time. Things have changed. New technology. Talk to the fatty to get into a talkative mood, then things will come easier when you get to the hot girl, every thing will flow easier.”

“Maybe… I was never good at this stuff. I don’t even know what to say.”

“What do you mean? Don’t you remember when we used to go to the movies and pick up girls in high school?”

“I remember you talking to girls and me watching.”

“Oh… yeah. No matter. Just go up to the troll and tell her you thought they looked cool so you came over to say hi.”

“But…”

“Go on.”

“Alright. No guts, no glory.”

“No nuts, no nookie.”

“No balls, no blowie in the bathroom.”

“Touché.”

Johnston gulped his rusty nail, started walking, and bombed. He walked back.

“There. Doesn’t that feel better?”

“In a word, no.”

“You just got rejected by the ugliest girl in the club. Things can only get better. There are some cute girls.”

“Give me a moment… I’m still recovering.”

“Recovery is for testicular cancer patients. Put your hand between your legs.”

“What? Why?”

“To check if they’re still there.” Anton cocked his leg as if he were about to make sure in the firmest way possible.

“Okay okay, I’m going.”

Johnston stumbled into a conversation with two Kiwi girls.

“I’m Johnston.”

“Yes, you are.” She said approvingly. The dark one was extroverted. Her name was Connie. The blonde was quiet and had curly hair. Her name was Debra.

Connie had a certain warmth, and she seemed to get excited about everything. Debra sat quietly and smiled, and sipped a vodka cranberry. Debra went to the bathroom. Johnston leaned in and kissed Connie on the lips. She grabbed him and nearly molested him. Debra came back, and someone had taken her chair. Johnston was a little confused when Connie suggested she sit in Johnston’s lap. She did. She wrapped her arm around him and smiled sweetly.

Connie winked at him.

“So… there’s a pool back at my hotel,” he said. “Do you guys feel like taking a, uh, dip?”

Debra leaned up against his neck.

“Skinny-dipping?”

He pulled out his phone and texted Anton from across the room. “Gtg, catch you tomorrow bro.”

They got back to the hotel. As they walked through the hallway, he had his arms around both of the girls’ waists. He was trying to play it cool but the thought of an impending threesome was dominating his thoughts. What did it take to satisfy two women? Could he do it? What if it all went wrong?

“Which is your room?”

“It’s right up here.”

Debra collapsed onto the bed and Connie sat down and started feeling up her leg. Johnston stood in amazement for a moment.

Heavy petting. Condom. Insertion.

“Uh… uh…. uhh…”

After twenty seconds, Connie pushed him off and pulled up her panties.

“And that’s all you get.”

“W…what?”

Connie zipped her skirt and picked up her handbag. Debra followed suit.

Johnston just sat there on the tousled bed, his penis still throbbing within the condom. The expression on his face was a child’s expression.

Connie glanced in the mirror as she walked out. “Oh snap… I smeared my lipstick.” She pulled out her make up kit from her handbag and started touching up. “Hey do you think we could get Bobby to pick us up?”

“Nah, not tonight. He’s got a gig at the Palais.”

“Oh yeah. Fuck it, we’ll take a taxi… Shit, have you got cash?”

“Nah, I’ve got card though.”

“Oh, sweet as.” Connie closed her make up kit. Connie and Debra opened the hotel door, turned off the light, and walked out, leaving the door open.

Johnston lay there for a minute, wearing nothing but a shirt and a condom. He got up and closed the door. He picked up his phone and called Anton.

“Heeey what are you doing calling me?? Didn’t I just see you leave with TWO GIRLS??!”

“Man… I think I’m going to cry…”

Charlton’s is a great dive for karaoke. Though it once sported the most exhaustive list of possible karaoke songs, now somehow it had changed karaoke companies and the list has been cut down to a bare minimum of thirty five sheets, lacking even a single Bowie song.

I’m standing on the side of the dancefloor with Bernadette. Bernadette is taking pictures of her friend Gizi getting groped on the dancefloor by a post-punk.

The five foot tall girl with the black hair and glasses pulled Bernadette down to talk in her ear. Bernadette pulled me over to talk in my ear.

“Apparently I don’t have to worry about – that guy is impotent. Don’t ask me how she knows this… I hope she’s right because that guy looks like a sexual predator.”

“She must be his confidant.”

Romeo continued to molest Gizi. He started to put his hands up the back of her skirt, still on the dancefloor. Classy.

Shorty grabbed Bernadette and pulled her ear down again.

Then Bernadette, to me: “She says the guy I’m talking to has a really small penis.”

“Who?”

“You.”

“Aw snap. And it was going to be a surprise too.”

“Apparently she can tell the size of guys’ penises just by looking at them. She’s a penis psychic.”

“I bet she gives really good head.”

“She’s boner fide, if you know what I’m saying. HEY where did Zigmund go?”

Zigmund had disappeared with the Penis Psychic. That night he broke his five-and-a-half-month dry spell, with the one woman who could really appreciate his manliness.

It’s 2003. I’m standing at a party in East Maitland. I’m giving out mixtapes to anyone who will accept them. I’m talking about music with this fellow. He doesn’t listen to hip-hop, but he is a musician… sorta.

“So all three of us bought guitars… Felonius took it up right away. Now he’s a wizard. The guy can just play. For me and Jeremy though, it didn’t work out so well. We tried, but we can’t really play that well… So we figured what we’ll do is find some heroin, push off, and write a shitload of songs. Like Cobain did.”

“I don’t think Cobain was-”

“He was a great songwriter – you can’t deny that.”

“Yeah, but I don’t think it comes from -”

“He wrote a lot of great songs while he was on the horse.. So that’s what me and Jeremy are going to do.”

“You can’t just take heroin and -”

“It’s okay, we won’t share needles or anything. I’ve got a guy who knows a guy in Kings Cross, good shit, we won’t get burned. Then we’ll write the songs and it’ll be great.”

“Right… Of course.”

“Anyway I’m gonna go find Jeremy. Catch you later bro.”

“From now on, I’m telling you all, I won’t be able to adjust your schedules for toilet breaks.”

Everyone was silent. Wait, what? “What are we, in prison?” I said. Welcome to Shawshank.

“I’m serious. It’s not so much the toilet that gets me, it’s going to the kitchen, hanging out and chatting, getting water… It takes too much time out of your schedule. There is no allowance in your schedule for toilet breaks.”

“Panini… Straight up. If I need to take a shit, I’ll take a shit.” I saw from the look on Panini’s face that he instantly recognised my logic was irrefutable. “So how does that apply to me?” I said.

Bright said “Do you have to say ‘shit’? How would you guys like it if I started talking about that time of the month?”

“To be honest, I don’t care. I’ve had girlfriends; I know the score.”

“Bright, please. I’m sure you’ve all heard it before. We can be mature about this. Now, as I’ve said, there is no allowance for toilet breaks in your schedule. Inbound consultants require many skills, and, unfortunately, bladder control is one of them. If you don’t find that suitable, perhaps you would prefer moving to an outbound role where it is an allowance.”

“But sometimes I get really intense diarrhoea…” started Al. “What am I supposed to do then?”

“If you’re sick, let me know, and we can deal with it on a case-by-case basis. As a general rule though, no toilet breaks.”

I’m not sure what Panini said after that, but somehow he managed to explain it in a way that made it seem perfectly rational, and I didn’t bring up my shit argument again.

After the meeting, Al turned to me and said “Remember in training when we were told we would be allowed toilet breaks, and that SalesWorld is a reasonable employer when it comes to that?”

“Yeah… In fact I remember Laphroaig’s exact words. He said that if you’ve had a dodgy vindaloo the night before, that’s fine, you’ll be able to use the toilet if you need it. Quite a turn-around.”

I told a couple of my friends outside of work on Panini’s Shawshank policy. They said the same thing, that he was obviously an inexperienced manager, and that how allowing your staff to have toilet “privileges” was really a basic tenet of management. I wondered how such a manager who was normally so rational would institute a rule that was obviously so irrational, and even impractical. Even if it was as Panini said, that there were people who were abusing going to the bathroom, then those individuals should be dealt with personally. A blanket rule is very inappropriate, and impractical.

During our entire team meeting, it was obvious that Panini had had his superiors come down on him… making demands from their ivory towers. So he had come down on us.

A couple of weeks later, I finished my shift at 5:30. I went to the toilet to lay down the brown, unwavering log of the law. Both of the stalls were full.

I waited there for about twelve minutes. Then Panini came out of the first stall.

“You could have gone upstairs you know,” he said.

“I would, I didn’t realise you were building the Taj Mahal in there.”

“Mate… It’s the only place I can get a break.”

I laughed for a second… Then I stopped laughing.

Sometimes it’s the thrill of the chase. Other times, it’s the thrill of the short-cut.

Trying to apply for a proof of age card the other day. The form said I need to get someone such as a Justice of the Peace, a policeman, a school principal etc. who had known me for more than twelve months to sign the form. I don’t know anyone in Melbourne like that. It’s kind of funny, because I didn’t have to get a JP to sign to get my passport, an internationally recognised document. But for this piece of plastic, it is so.

“If you don’t know one of these people, call this number 1300 xxx xxx to make alternative arrangements.”

Okay, cool. Turns out the alternative arrangements were more or less the lady saying “Are you sure you don’t know one of those people?”

“Yes.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Hm…”

Then she said “…Twelve months is only a guideline.” She’s saying that a registered nurse fits in these categories. I said “How so? It’s not listed.”

“Look at item Y.”

Item Y says something like “A person who is employed by the nature of the classification under the Act Of Demographic Apologism 1983 or by which wherefore the classification could be classified accordingly heretofore that person notwithstanding.”

“Yeah, that means a public servant.”

“Why doesn’t it say that?”

“It’s an old… document.”

As it stands, I still haven’t found someone to sign it who fits under item Y.

It’s kinda like when you’re in a club, and a whole bunch of songs are playing. You don’t recognise a single one. The next song comes around and your ears perk up. You recognise something familiar. Before you know it, you’re dancing to Britney Spears.

“Hey! It’s been a long time mate. Let me buy you a beer,” he says, a beaming smile of friendship. Most people don’t even think about it. They don’t remember. He’s standing there in blissful ignorance.

I thought about it. I thought about the time him and his friends found a lump of dog shit in the schoolyard, and they all grabbed me and tried to force my face into it. I thought about the time when he threw banana peels at me. Threw my hat on the roof so I couldn’t get it. He would call me over saying he wanted to talk to me, just so he and his friends could surround me and push me from edge to edge in the circle like a pinball.

Cut back to his smiling face, and the present day.

If he doesn’t remember, I guess I don’t have to remember either.

“Hell, let me buy you a drink.”