people coming in, but a lot of them workers in workers’ clothes and good honest thirsts, and something else enviable about them too. Outside, the drizzle’d quickly turned to steady rain. The pair were down to their last inchof beer in each glass, and staring at it or at the rain shrouding Jube’s V8 monster.
Jube grabbed for the smokes, Oh jeezus, not the fucking smokes too; there’s five left. Though he lit one regardless, and so too did Sonny. And a moment of eye glance between them had the uneven number remaining in the packet a separate determination on the part of each.
The patronage, who were Jube’s scum of earlier, were no longer that; in fact, they took on an air of security that the pair were without. If only for the fact that they appeared to have money enough to see the drinking process to its intended end: oblivion. Not to mention no shortage of smokes. As well, it seemed they had the emotional security of having their own kind to talk to, tell lies to, exaggerate to, laugh with, toast, throw ever-expansive arms around each other. Again, another whole point of the drinking process: to break free.
And it didn’t fit. Wasn’t right. That they, the out-of-town duo, come to town with their big dreams of criminal teaming, city- to-city A Team of burglars, they who supposedly had the greater freedom and therefore the greater scope, should feel inferior to a barful of alcoholics and enslaved workers. That’s it! Jube’s fist thumped on the table. We are out of fucking here. Fuck Pete. Fuck this whole town. It sucks. Marching toward the door, scattering drinkers as he did, Get outta my fucking way.
In Jube’s car being driven at high speed in the city confines, though not much traffic left of city workers heading for suburban homes. Hey, that’s the Beehive, man. Where the PM his-self works. Fuck the PM. Only PM I’m interested in is Pall Mall smokes, Jube fluking the joke. Nor did he laugh. Speaking of smokes, who’s having the last one? Sonny not answering, looking out his window.
Sonny?
Yeow?
Where’s that last smoke?
Man, it musta smoked itself all up – hahahaha. Though Jube didn’t echo the laughter. Just scowled; told Sonny, You’ll keep. And try the ashtray. But Sonny shook his head. Man, you and I both smoke em right down to the filter. Take a look anyway. Sonny did so. Nope. Sorting through the pile of filters, ash and matches, and not a butt worth smoking. Jeezuz fucking chrise.
Jube drove them aimlessly. They ended up out the other side ofthe city, which the shop signs said was Oriental Bay. Jube mumbling that it didn’t remind him of nothin Oriental, just another New Zealand bay. Where’s the Chink food shops? Rain driven at an angle by the wind. Up a hill off to the right – sea was on Sonny’s side, the left – and the houses looked very robbable, so Jube’s mood picking up a little. Tanight, bro, we’re back here tanight. Eyeing the houses hungrily. And so was Sonny, though his mind as much on the food that might be in the fridge, and hoping the people were smokers, which wasn’t very often when you hit a posh home. Not even ashtrays in most ofem.
Yep. Jube turned around up the top of a long, winding climb. This’ll do the boys tonight, my lil man. Back down the hill. We’ll wait it out someplace we don’t get reminded of smokes. And food too, man. And food.
Down the bottom of the hill, turn right. May as well follow the sea, eh Sonny? Round a sharp bend, Jube on the wrong side, a near miss with a car, hitting its horn at Jube and he giving the fingers back. Pulling his arm back in, It’s wet outside, Sonny, hahaha.
Sea beside churned up by the wind. Out of the sea loomed a figure on a sailboard. Heyyy! thas us, Son. That’s us, at this lone dude in a brightly coloured wetsuit riding his board over a boiling sea. Man alive! Sonny in admiration. And Jube grinning the same. Man triumphing over the elements, Sonny thinking as Jube slowed right down. Till he felt the
Jube grabbed for the smokes, Oh jeezus, not the fucking smokes too; there’s five left. Though he lit one regardless, and so too did Sonny. And a moment of eye glance between them had the uneven number remaining in the packet a separate determination on the part of each.
The patronage, who were Jube’s scum of earlier, were no longer that; in fact, they took on an air of security that the pair were without. If only for the fact that they appeared to have money enough to see the drinking process to its intended end: oblivion. Not to mention no shortage of smokes. As well, it seemed they had the emotional security of having their own kind to talk to, tell lies to, exaggerate to, laugh with, toast, throw ever-expansive arms around each other. Again, another whole point of the drinking process: to break free.
And it didn’t fit. Wasn’t right. That they, the out-of-town duo, come to town with their big dreams of criminal teaming, city- to-city A Team of burglars, they who supposedly had the greater freedom and therefore the greater scope, should feel inferior to a barful of alcoholics and enslaved workers. That’s it! Jube’s fist thumped on the table. We are out of fucking here. Fuck Pete. Fuck this whole town. It sucks. Marching toward the door, scattering drinkers as he did, Get outta my fucking way.
In Jube’s car being driven at high speed in the city confines, though not much traffic left of city workers heading for suburban homes. Hey, that’s the Beehive, man. Where the PM his-self works. Fuck the PM. Only PM I’m interested in is Pall Mall smokes, Jube fluking the joke. Nor did he laugh. Speaking of smokes, who’s having the last one? Sonny not answering, looking out his window.
Sonny?
Yeow?
Where’s that last smoke?
Man, it musta smoked itself all up – hahahaha. Though Jube didn’t echo the laughter. Just scowled; told Sonny, You’ll keep. And try the ashtray. But Sonny shook his head. Man, you and I both smoke em right down to the filter. Take a look anyway. Sonny did so. Nope. Sorting through the pile of filters, ash and matches, and not a butt worth smoking. Jeezuz fucking chrise.
Jube drove them aimlessly. They ended up out the other side ofthe city, which the shop signs said was Oriental Bay. Jube mumbling that it didn’t remind him of nothin Oriental, just another New Zealand bay. Where’s the Chink food shops? Rain driven at an angle by the wind. Up a hill off to the right – sea was on Sonny’s side, the left – and the houses looked very robbable, so Jube’s mood picking up a little. Tanight, bro, we’re back here tanight. Eyeing the houses hungrily. And so was Sonny, though his mind as much on the food that might be in the fridge, and hoping the people were smokers, which wasn’t very often when you hit a posh home. Not even ashtrays in most ofem.
Yep. Jube turned around up the top of a long, winding climb. This’ll do the boys tonight, my lil man. Back down the hill. We’ll wait it out someplace we don’t get reminded of smokes. And food too, man. And food.
Down the bottom of the hill, turn right. May as well follow the sea, eh Sonny? Round a sharp bend, Jube on the wrong side, a near miss with a car, hitting its horn at Jube and he giving the fingers back. Pulling his arm back in, It’s wet outside, Sonny, hahaha.
Sea beside churned up by the wind. Out of the sea loomed a figure on a sailboard. Heyyy! thas us, Son. That’s us, at this lone dude in a brightly coloured wetsuit riding his board over a boiling sea. Man alive! Sonny in admiration. And Jube grinning the same. Man triumphing over the elements, Sonny thinking as Jube slowed right down. Till he felt the
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