Archive for October, 2014

John Three offered a Rosy.
“Lay down, Lady. Lay down!”
I ain’t no Melanie, but Rosy speaks to me, and if it folds and Johns are a-wavin’ ’em I’ll put ’em in my pocket, no second thinky-think.
Winky-wink, “Oh Darla dear. You see me? See? See Johnny Three? Hee hee!”
John Three looked Marmaduke, droopy-drippy, weazlin’ for a wash, and I pinched my beak, told him “Pee-ew!”
Up in The Pit I pulled a Rosy-posy. No rushing in-out needed when Rosy’s flashed about. Unclipped, struck-a-strick, lit
a Lucky Strike.
Put a foot up on the sill, show leg to Johnny Boy while he preened and oiled. I sent clouds out over the street, carefully positioned elbow on knee, all contemplative sex-a-tative, window gazing Venus. Waiting-wanting-ready.
We all know Rosy means Johnny Three gets himself a show. And Johnny knows best.
I try a little harder, “Oh yes, Johnny! Yes!”

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Sally was a silly bugger sometimes. Bloody lucky to be alive actually.
Took no shit, gave a bloody good dead-arm to let you know it, and had a mouth on her that would make a sailor blush.
Walking home from school one day, along the railway line as we did – because of course that was safer than walking on the side of the road – we saw the 3:20 train to Melbourne, as usual, come under the Thistle Street bridge.
All cool and nonchalant, Sally, the silly bugger, always left it pretty late to step off the tracks, hoping to get a rise out of the train driver, provoke him into blowing the horn.
But this day, as she went to step down, some ballast moved under her feet and she slipped, lurched, and almost fell into the path of the oncoming locomotive.
“Fark,” she simply stated.
Sally, the silly bugger, looked pretty sickly and pale, silent all the rest of the walk home.
And from that day on we would pointedly stop as we made our way home, and watch the 3:20 train to Melbourne go roaring by, from the safety of the roadside.