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K2 and friends sat limply in Hometown's Skylight Cafe, surveying the exotic poetry on offer,

K2 thought of rolling into town in the back of a white dream car. Instead, a grumbling afternoon bus with two friends from the city, a recovering alcoholic, a young mother of two, four best-mate-good-son salty students of civil engineering....... home-bound travellers......... the coffee machine gurgled, in the Skylight Cafe. At the window a solitary wombat tapped Morse code:

-.. --- -. - -.. .-. .. -. -.- - .... . .-- .- - . .-.
(don't drink the water)

A red-faced, blue-frocked waitress farted what youse want? K2 to friends well tonight? Pub? Pub!

Borrowing K2 father's car the party drove to the Gesticulating Arms - K2 indicating various interesting aspects of Hometown. Here is where the new town hall will be and that is the site for the community swimming pool. That's where my old school was. Over there is the pizza restaurant where I asked for a small vegetarian and I was served by a midget Hare Krishna. Here is where we would play our word games DICKhead, FUCKknuckle, slagMOLLbitch. There I got into a fight, where the fence is pushed in. Way over there is the old State Mine - mines go all under town, full of water now. Some things stay the same, some things change. No-one talks anymore, having found farting a more expressive and deeply satisfying form of communication. Had a bit of trouble when it first started - arseholes being more honest by nature, telling truths where they shouldn't. People tried to get a grip, control their arseholes, and that's where they copped their first fatalities. Getting conflicted messages, the frustrated arseholes evacuated the whole person.

Nearing the hotel K2 accelerated - smashing the car into the pub wall. Glass exploded from the front bar's windows. General cry of shit. K2 and friends sauntered from the wreck, smiling little Caesars crossing the Rubicon. No unilateral demobilisation here. Inside a stroller turned against the wall - a baby asleep with a stalactite of congealed snot clinging to its nose. A middle-aged woman rubbed Lobster Mornay off the counter meals menu - a glazed look in her eyes. The jovial barman what's your pleasure? Memory one of K2's friends I'll have a Normal. K2 generous make that three - three double Normals. With ice. A tug on K2's leg - the wombat again .. -.-. . .. -.-. . -.-- --- ..- -.. .- -- -. ..-. --- --- .-.. (ice ice you damn fool) K2 snapped sorry no ice thank you.

Retiring to the periphery K2 helped the wombat on to a chair. K2's friends sat down sipping their Normals. The wombat initiated conversation beware of water and crustaceans. Crustaceans? Careful, we can't talk - do you know Symbolic Sign Language? Yes of course. The wombat relieved gave a Meaningful Wink: you are being watched, look over there. By the pub's open fireplace a party of off-duty football players warmed themselves the fire's going out Captain. The Captain tossed a new pile of faggots on the fire no worries mate. A sudden rush of earthy goodness poured from the hearth illuminating the room. K2 found the key Rapping the Table: the ruck rover - he's been watching us all this time. The wombat Scratched His Testicles: that's a fucked ruck rover. The wombat Checked How His Armpits Smelt: he's become one of them - mutant yabbies have taken over his brain. Look at his skin the wombat exhausted the meaning in his armpit. K2 scrutinised the ruck rover, seeing the harsh red nodules bursting through the skin on his face. The wombat Crossed His Stubby Legs: microyabbies, in the water, enter the host when it drinks and heads straight for the brain. K2 Stretched Both Legs: well, what do we do. What's the plan? Can we help any of these people - the ruck rover? The Wombat Cracked His Knuckles: I'm afraid it's all over for that ruck rover. Just get prepared drink nothing but vodka and wait until this morning cycles round again.

K2 and friends sat limply in the Skylight Cafe, alert eyes betraying their blase attitude.

A red-faced blue-frocked waitress approached with grubby order book what youse want? Devonshire Tea please. What you want to drink with it? Tea please. As she walked towards the kitchen an antenna loosened itself from her hair. K2 and friends leapt from their chairs machetes cracking down on the waitress's chitinous hide. Her screams brought the cooks from the kitchen - the ruck rover and his twin now fully transformed. The cray brothers lunged at K2 and friends - ripping bellies open cracking bones splitting faces with powerful pincers. From the kitchen sink with a rush and a roar thousands of yabbies streamed out over the bodies of K2 and friends - consuming and digesting. The coffee machine gurgled, in the Skylight Cafe.

© N. T. Tuddenham 1992-2010

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