There’s a guy I go see in the hills behind town, East. The direction; his name’s not East. I call him Chip. I go when I’m passing by, or want to borrow something. But I think I just go to see him. It’s good to get out of the city. You breathe better, I’m sure.
When I’m in the car on the way there, there’s a ritual I follow. There’s a petrol station, round half way. I always stop for fuel there, make sure I’ve got near nothing in the tank so that I can fill her proper. Then I tear out of there. Straight onto the freeway and back into the pace, like I’ve paused for just one second to catch my breath and I’m out again, flying back with the boys, and I have to regain my pace. It feels impressive. It must look good; this Merc flying from the station, seeding into the line of traffic and cruising forward.
I met a girl the other day, and I might love her. I mean, later – not yet. I don’t want to love her yet. It was raining out, and everyone was hiding undercovers – sprinting between awnings and frantic. She ran in the street. That’s where I met her. If it hadn’t have been raining, I’d not have met her. We were the only ones in the rain. So I said, we’re the only ones in the rain. If we left together, there’d be no one in the rain, and that’d be a shame, but why don’t we get a coffee anyway? And she knew what I meant, I think.
When I’m near the mountains, I always announce their hint through the clouds. There she is, I say. And there’s a wall of mountain ahead, pine trees and all of it. I take a big breath in and say – feels better already, I’m feeling better already. Breathing and the like. That’s what I say, whether there’s someone to hear it or not.
The lights are out in town. Powers off and the traffic lights just flash that yellow they do. It’s a flat, flower yellow. Frantic yellow. You turn those lights off and no one knows what to do. Town goes mad. People scream, buses overtake bubble cars, and people run to try and make gaps they wouldn’t make if the bus didn’t scream to stop and the bubble car almost run in its arse.
I don’t drink coffee. I got tea, and ate her biscuit as well. You can’t ask someone for tea though. We’re the only ones in the rain, and if we left there’d be no one in the rain, but why don’t we get a tea anyway? It doesn’t work like that. It raises many problems. If I was invited for pancakes, I’d want pancakes; not waffles.