Monthly Archives: December 2014

peripheral

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peripheral

I’d thought about telling her twice but hadn’t. It’s only now after sitting with just my tinnitus to keep me company that I’ve realised why. I don’t have good peripheral vision so I hadn’t seen her coming. She started pushing my wheelchair from behind. It wasn’t a steep gradient and my face blushed as I felt the added momentum. I wanted to tell her to not push me. I don’t have that much independence but I cherish what I do have. I push myself up hills that people struggle to walk. Don’t. That’s was what I wanted to say

I am sweet in person. My parents raised me well. There was something gratifying for her in helping a man in a wheelchair. It made her feel better thinking that she was helping. If I’d told her to stop I would have stolen something for her. She needs to help people. I couldn’t verbalise it at the time. I didn’t need her help. She had stolen something from me

People always misinterpret what I’m saying. Earlier in the day I’d seen a hot woman walking towards me with a big bunch of flowers smile at me so I tried to flirt. I told her that the flowers were beautiful. What do you want them, she asked with a scowl? No, I said, I was just saying they were beautiful. She looked around as if checking to find a camera. She looked back down at me but didn’t answer my question. She did not want to talk

There were three teenage girls walking in front of us. The one in the middle turned around and smiled at me. She conferred with the other two. They stopped walking and turned back to look at me. She was so sexy. I smiled and she smiled back Mae West. A young girls stare doesn’t know what it wants. Sorry, a young girls stare doesn’t know what I want. She was tall dark and beautiful. She wore shorts so short that I had seen the bottom of her bum cheeks. She could have been a model. She was dressed like a slut but I could tell she wasn’t. I was wondering how a father could let his daughter leave the house looking like that until I saw her beaming at me. I could tell that she wanted me to talk to her

I didn’t talk to her. I passed her in my wheelchair. It would be perverse. I carried on before realising that the woman who had been pushing me had stopped and was talking to her. I hadn’t felt her let go. She caught up with me and told me off. Didn’t you hear me calling you, she asked angrily? No, I said. Well I stopped them so you could have talked to her. What, I said. She was probably only sixteen years old. Why would I want to? But she liked you, she wanted to talk to you, she replied. Her liking me was not the problem

I know what it is, she said. You’re scared of sex. I thought I hadn’t heard what she said so asked her to repeat it. What, she asked, are you deaf. I told her that I was half deaf and pulled out the hearing aids to show her. She said sorry before she said it again. I had heard her. I said, no you’re wrong. I could make sparks shoot out of her arse if I was with her. I could give a piece of wood an orgasm. I’m actually scared of me

She started driving away. I miss driving so much. Not that I was ever that good a driver but I enjoyed it and it relaxed me. I’ve driven all over the world without ever holding a licence. I was very lucky for a very long time. I crashed two cars and never felt any consequences. I ended up taking the female cop on a date from the worst crash of the two. Our date was the day I crashed my car into the **** *** Golf Course. I was still drunk and still high on coke when I went into her police station and recorded a statement. I told her that I had been in shock and walked home instead of staying till the police arrived. I was in shock but I walked home instead of staying to go to jail

She hadn’t stopped smiling the entire time I’d been with her. I didn’t know where we were but knew the road we were on would take us back to Sydney. She put the indicator on. I asked her where she was going. She said, I’m going to find a quiet spot to rape you. She smiled and started turning left. I saw her smile widen. I wound the window down and stuck my head out. I cried for help twice. I saw an old man with a cane turning around before the window started closing. I shouted out that she was going to rape me. I saw him smile and give me the thumbs up as I was forced to bring my head back inside. I turned around and saw her smiling. Her finger was on a button on the driver’s side door. She had the control. I saw him still smiling in the wing mirror. He didn’t think I needed help. Only I know what I really need. I am scared of me

help

help

help

help

help

help

help

help

Andrew Stuart Buchanan

blood

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I’ve become so sick of left-wing do-gooders. They tell me that I can’t write about my suicidal tendencies or being poor, in a wheelchair or gay people trying to hit on me. It’s all very over-sensitive. The left wing has become so right that they have become as militant. They have stolen their tactics and now take their formation in a flying-v as well. In no time at all there will be no more wings left. The form will look like a giant billion armed squid that will no longer squirt black ink because it is offensive to have ink that’s black. Two year-old girls will already have D-cups and all the young boys will be hermaphrodites too busy trying to fuck themselves. The arrogant shall inherit the Earth. It will be considered offensive to take a side. Everybody will take residence in oval shaped houses. The government will have eaten itself and there will only be one huge hand of indignation feeding itself stale Weetbix.

And then there will be me… still laughing

feed

Fear slips through my fingers

like it’s sluiced

the vegetable man hates me

because I’m white

and the gull cries

if only

I sit in the corner crying

I’m shaking with the DT’s as

last night’s booze farewells

I am a wizard without a hat

I hear her scream

but only just

The willows drip in my mind

and fear takes the form

of a solid

in absolute fear

absolute in fear

She told me I only hate

she said it like she did

I take the blood and shake it

I place it on a crate and

watch it still shaking

*** hates hating so doesn’t know

With only one ey e that works it

slips through my fingers

Andrew Stuart Buchanan

DOING TIME

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DOING TIME

-Thanks but no thanks. She’s not my type

-Why, is she too ugly?

-I didn’t say that

-Is she too old?

-You’re getting warmer

-What do you mean?

-Well some men are attracted to older women and some men aren’t. I would prefer a younger woman

-Why?

-Their intentions are pure. There are no ulterior motives. They just want to fuck

-She told me she wants to fuck you. How much more pure can you get?

-If that’s pure I’d rather tarnished

-Tarnished? So you do think she’s ugly?

-Don’t put words in my mouth

-But do you think she’s ugly?

-What, is that what you want me to say? I’m trying to be polite

-You know she owns half of Double Bay

-So?

-Well she has money. She could take care of you

-I’m not a woman

-What does that mean?

-Well a woman could be with a man who’s not her type for the love of money. Very few men can do that. I would rather be with a beautiful poor woman than an ugly millionaire

-So you do think she’s ugly

-Stop putting words in my mouth. I didn’t mean to use her as an example. I was just illustrating how men are lead by their heart while most women are lead by their head

-I don’t agree with you

-You don’t have to

-Women’s and men’s roles are changing you know

-I know, I saw a man trying to breastfeed the other day

-That’s not what I meant. I’m just saying that these days it’s common for a woman to take a younger partner simply because she holds more money

-You mean a younger slut

-I didn’t say they were sluts

-Well wouldn’t they have to be? Fucking an old bat just ‘cause she takes care of you

-Can a man be a slut?

-Definitely. I’m a recovering one

-Are you calling young women with older male partners sluts as well?

-Yep. They’re the biggest sluts. It seems worse when it’s a woman doing it. When I see a man with an older woman a part of me wants to high-five him and say, well done. Another part of me thinks you poor fuck. You’ve got to go down on that

-There are beautiful older women. Do you know Sofia Loren?

-No why do you?

-No

-Well so why are you mentioning her?

-I was using her as an example

-Do you have any friends who look like that?

-No but this woman told me that you could use her sexually. She wouldn’t mind

-But I do mind. I’m sick of meeting women I’m not attracted to telling me they want to fuck me. I’m in love with a woman already

-Does she love you?

-Not any more

-What do you mean, not any more…

-Well I mean she used to love me but she doesn’t anymore. I’m waiting till she does again

-You could wind up in prison waiting for a woman to fall back in love with you

-What do you mean?

-I mean that it won’t happen. A woman doesn’t love like that. A woman’s love is fleeting. Half of the men in ‘stir’ and loony bins are there because they couldn’t wait for a woman to fall back in love with them. Only a man loves like that. You men are like bees and women are like wasps

-What do you mean by that?

-A man leaves a part of himself with every love. That’s how a man dies. A woman can move on and love again. Women don’t die for their love. If you keep waiting for her you’ll go mad or commit a crime

-That’s ok

-That’s ok?

-I’m already stung. Everyday I spend without her is like I’m already doing time

…Andrew Stuart Buchanan

in silence

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in silence

I’d started the day losing three friends. I wasn’t worried about it. It was simply lightening the load. I’d been talking to one about finding it hard to meet somebody I’d like to be with. He had said to me, you know that I would always suck your dick. I punched him as hard as I could in the breadbasket and he collapsed. The next was a painter. They told me that my talent was limited to writing about alienation and the deprived. They had said to me, all you write about is being lonely in a wheelchair and loving women with big breasts. I said, well what about you. How many times can you paint shit without that becoming repetitive? They punched me but it didn’t hurt. It didn’t even anger me. All I could do was laugh. The third friend was a woman I’ve known for a long time. She sent me a text message telling me she would like to lick-out my arsehole. I told her I would send her a piece of shit in the post. She could lick that

The day was sunny and I could hear builders hammering outside. I pulled my hands out the bucket and said aloud, how long is this going to take? I looked at my palms and fingers. They looked like prunes. I dipped them back in and looked at the water. The water was turning rose. I am too tall to fit in my bath. That’s why I was using a bucket. I used the bucket the carers use for emptying out my urine at night. I didn’t wash it out first. What’s the point?

I looked down at the water. It was red. The bucket was almost over-flowing. I thought about emptying it until I realised again. What’s the point? I had looked it up on the Internet. The Internet told me to slit my wrists and then put them in tepid water so that’s what I’d done. Waiting to die was boring me. I thought to myself that I should have just pushed myself off a cliff. I didn’t push off a cliff because it would have scared me

The phone had rung earlier in the day. I saw it was a friend. I didn’t want to answer it but I did. I picked it up and told them I was going to kill myself. The person told me I should join a support group. I asked why? Because, they said, it might be helpful to talk to other people in a similar situation. They were wrong. Talking about it would be like sticking one finger in a sieve to stop it leaking. There are too many holes

Somebody had asked me when I was going to get a job earlier in the day? I asked them what they thought I could do? I told them that I spent the majority of the day in bed from pain and my short-term memory is ruined. They told me I could get a job in computers. I have a computer and it makes me so angry I shout at it. It makes me feel like a caveman. I’ve picked it up and thrown it out the window three times. It confuses me. The last time I saw my GP he said I was not ready to be declared fit to work. I felt insulted until I got home. At home I realised he was protecting me

My friend thought I was a bum. I am worse than a bum. At least a bum can stand up and swing a punch. I clenched my fists in the bucket and felt blood pumping out of the cuts. I smiled as I realised it wouldn’t take as long as I had thought. It was hot outside but I felt cold and was shivering. A split second of doubt crossed my mind. Am I doing the right thing? I looked down at my wheelchair. I smiled. Of course I was doing the right thing

The damage to my brain was considered severe. I am recovering slowly but no one knows it but me. The Neuro-Psychologist and the advocate both said I am high functioning for somebody with an acquired brain-injury. The advocate said that most people wouldn’t know how damaged I am to talk to me. She said that I am not socially awkward and appear to hold an intelligent conversation. The trouble is as soon as I’ve stopped talking I forget

One of my mates once told me I have a good long-term memory. He was right and he was wrong. On odd occasions I think I’ll remember something I’ve done in the past. I never know if it is true. Someone will tell me about it and I’ll get a flash. I told one of my friends that I thought I’d fucked a Maori woman one night. You did, he said, It was in Sydney. I was there with you at the pub when you scored her. She was hot. My brain didn’t remember her but my body did. Her hair was long black and curly and she squirmed under me. Every part of her moved as she enveloped me. It was like fucking water

My father had sent me some items in the post. There was a schoolbook from my first year at school. The book was full of drawings. I was a better artist at five years old when I didn’t try. I kept looking through the envelope and found some photos. The first I saw was of an old flatmate smoking a bong. I laughed when I saw it. I flipped to the next one and it was of me smoking a bong. I called my father and thanked him for sending the photos of me doing drugs. Was that in Amsterdam, my father asked? No, I laughed, that was in St Albans. My father said, oh, disapprovingly. I am too honest. I have become too dumb to lie

I’d thought about writing a will. I considered all of my possessions and decided not to. I threw everything I could carry out of my kitchen window. I saw two neighbours fighting over an expensive Cashmere sweater and I laughed. One was an obese woman and the other was a teenage boy. I called out to the woman that it was too small to fit her. She shouted back that she was going to give it to her husband. I called out to the boy to kick her in the shins. He did she squealed and dropped it. I saw her bending over to rub herself. I yelled out to the boy to kick her in the other shin. He did and she squealed again. I smiled as the boy ran away with it

I have told anyone who would listen that I was more suicidal before I had the accident. That was true for a long time. I spent over a year going out twice a week dancing feeling nothing but introverted. I was unable or unwilling to control my urges. I fucked so many strange women those couple of years that I’m lucky that my dick didn’t fall off. I was lucky enough to not even get an STD. All of those memories have been forgotten so they may as well of not happened. This is what I’ve been told. Now I fuck my hand

I’d put Mind/Art on. It reminded me that there is beauty even when you can’t see it. I’d listened to seven songs and the eight was playing. K groaned like she was sniffing glue. The song finished and I wanted to hear it again. I took my hands out of the bucket. I saw a towel but didn’t grab it, what’s the point? I pushed my chair into the lounge and pushed the button to skip backwards. The CD player sent a jolt of electricity through my arm before it exploded with a puff of smoke. I went back to the bucket in silence. There is no beauty for me

in silence

X           X

Andrew Stuart Buchanan

THESE SHE THINGS DON’T

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THESE SHE THINGS DON’T

He asked me if I got his birthday present? Oh yeah sorry, I said, I forgot to thank you. What’s a thank-you between friends, he pleaded. I couldn’t tell if he was being facetious or not. He had given me a photo his girlfriend had taken of the two of us. He’s standing over me with his hand on my shoulder. I have purposefully not become involved in his life. He’s always asking me when I’m coming around to his house? I’ve only been once before. He invited me to a party. He has a Chinese girlfriend so I went. I thought she might have had a friend for me. I turned up with a bottle of wine. There were no women but there were two gay men sitting on his lounge. Well maybe they weren’t both gay but one was for sure. I could tell just by looking at him. He was a tall man in his sixties wearing a wig. The wig was a completely different colour than the hair at the back of his head and sat crookedly. He had a beer-belly. He sat the evening popping pistachio nuts into his mouth. He had a big bag. I was not offered one. He didn’t say a word the whole night. He didn’t have to. He was fat and gay with a big bag of pistachio nuts. The other man sat close to him and breathed in his greatness collecting the shells that he dropped to the floor. He scurried after them like a sycophant. That’s why I couldn’t tell if he was too

I enjoy my solitude. I was enjoying my solitude when there was a knock at the door. I went to open it and saw him standing there. Well, he asked, aren’t you going to invite me in? I told him I was sorry but I was busy baking some Afghan biscuits. He asked, what for? I said they were for one of my friends. He had met her. Isn’t she a bit too old for you, he asked? I told him I was baking the biscuits for her because she’s so nice to me not because I wanted to fuck her. He looked at me like a dog not understanding a command. I said, I’m baking them for her because she has become a friend. He looked at me again like Pauline. He did not understand. When he comes to talk I feel drained. I feel drained emotionally spiritually and physically. Everybody carries something. He carries the negative. One moment you’re ahead and then the next. So many people have pushed their way into my life. Just the other day somebody told me how many years have passed since I had the accident. Those years mean nothing. Most of my friends are married with children and one of my mates owns three houses. I’m still waiting to catch my break. All the women who are in my life now are for something other than sex. I preferred it the other way

He heard one of my female friends laughing with me as she was exiting my house one evening. He came running out to see what the laughter was about. He has not laughed in thirty-eight years. I introduced him to her. She shook his hand and left my building. I watched him watch her arse wobbling away as she left. I asked him how he was? She looks like a virgin, he whispered. I nodded and moaned. You should fuck her, he said. I had to ask, what? He repeated what he had said. Oh, I replied, I thought I’d recognised you. You’re a dirty old man. What’s dirty, he asked. You are, I said. He said, I bet her pussy tastes like strawberries. I bet it tastes better than strawberries, I replied. So why don’t you try to fuck her, he asked. Because, I said, it’s completely inappropriate. She’s a friend. Oh, he whined, I thought I recognised you. You think you’re Saint Andrew. I know I’m no saint, I said, but I can recognise a mistake

He started telling me how naïve he thought I was. He told me the world was passing me by. He said, nothing ventured, nothing gained. I didn’t want to talk about it so I changed the subject. He kept on about how I should be trying to fuck her. I told him, hell hath no fury like a woman. He asked what I meant? I told him that it would only lead to trouble. He told me that I think too much for a young man. I nodded and moaned again. This time it was a wistful moan. I am not that young. I looked into his eyes for some understanding but couldn’t find any. All I could find in his eyes was fire. Nobody wants sex more than someone who can’t get it. Nobody wants sex more than a teenage boy or an old man. He kept talking to me like a child. I was getting sick of it so I told him, I know you’re only trying to help me but this isn’t helping. I know I’m more than half your age but I guarantee I’ve had more sex than you. I’ve had enough sex in my life to be able to wait for the right woman to come along. But wouldn’t you like to fuck other woman as you wait, he asked? I looked into his flaming eyes and said, I am horny but I’m not desperate

I haven’t had sex in years. Somebody once told me that I might have used up all my chances with women. I remember thinking at the time, what a horrible thing to say. With time I see their statement differently. I could have had a woman by now but I would not be happy with her. I could have had a woman by now but the ones who chat me up are always mad or ugly. I have been inundated with false hope and jack-off dreams. Every time I get close to a woman she will say, sorry I’ve got a boyfriend or sorry but you’ve got the wrong idea. I have the right idea. They have the wrong idea. I have been out of the game for so long that I didn’t even notice the rules have changed. Somebody told me that I don’t look my age. I feel my age. All the girls would probably vomit if I let them into my life. I told one of my mates that I was lonely for love. He asked me, what about the sex-worker your insurance company has agreed to pay for. I had to tell him, I was talking about love not sex. He looked at me like he didn’t understand

I haven’t brushed my teeth for two and a half weeks. It’s not because I’m lazy or because I can’t afford toothpaste. The fur I feel on my teeth and gums reminds me that I’m alive. I had been sitting in my chair for hours so I gave myself a pressure lift. I went back down and sat for a minute until I realised I was sitting on my balls. I reached into my pants to pull them back up. As my hand was down there I felt a large boil at the crotch on my left leg. I squeezed and felt a pop. I took my hand out to the light and saw bloody pus. I rolled it between my fingers and found it sticky. I put the fingers up to my nose and smelt them. They smelt like Marmite

The sun was in the centre of the sky as I went to check my mailbox. I opened it and it was empty but for a pamphlet. I took it out and read the front. It was a leaflet telling me why I should hate her. I imagined the person who put it in my mailbox. I scrunched it into a ball and threw it in the gutter. It didn’t go down like that. It was a bitch thing. I started to head back indoors when I saw a massive spider web shaking. There was a fat housefly trying desperately to escape. I saw the spider hurrying along a thread to get to it. I said aloud, not this time. I stuck my finger in to release the prey and watched it fly off. The web bounced violently as the spider kept towards the empty hole where the fly had been trapped. I put my index finger in the centre and started destroying the web. Not this time

Three days later there was a loud knock on my door. I got a fright. It sounded like the police. In my wheelchair I am too short to see through the peephole. I decided to not open the door. I went to the lounge and switched the telly on. A loud voice boomed, I know you’re in there I can hear you. Oh well, I thought to myself, it’s been a good run. I opened the door closed my eyes and opened my wrists out ready. Andy, he said softly, she has made you some food. I opened my eyes and saw it was him again. Would you like to come over and eat? I didn’t want to but I said yes. Just give me a minute, I said. I closed the door on him and went and got my keys. As I entered his house I smelt MSG. I saw her standing in the corner with her back to us. Her head was looking down at the floor. He barked at her, you may turn around now. She did so and trotted off to the kitchen. She didn’t say hello. She came back with a tray of spring rolls. She put them on my lap. Her hand brushed against my balls. I looked up to find her winking at me. I looked down at the food. They were brown so I knew she’d used old oil to fry them in. He told her to say hello so she did. Now, he said, you can go back to the corner. She tuned around and went to the same corner. She stood with her back to us and her head went back down

I picked up a greasy brown spring roll and popped it in my mouth. I could only fit half of it in and still be polite. Yes, he said breathlessly as he watched me, that’s it. I broke it with my teeth and oil dripped down my right arm. It dropped so quickly that I didn’t have time to stop it before it landed on the groin of my pants. He called out for her to fetch a wet cloth. She backed out of the corner and went to the kitchen. She was in there for half a minute and then started backing out towards us. He stated, you may turn around, so she did. Wipe the oil off of Andy’s pants, he commanded. She got down on her knees and started rubbing the oil off me. She looked up at me smiling and winked again. She started rubbing faster and faster until I told her she had got it. She had got it. I had a large erection. I turned and saw him staring at the bulge. He said, you know you’re a handsome man Andy. I said, I’ve to go now. I gave him a look that told him I would shoot him if I had a gun. I’m not gay, he protested, but you are a handsome man. I started pushing my chair towards his door. I said over my shoulder, you don’t say it like you mean it. A straight man wouldn’t have to say anything. But… he stammered as I reached for the handle. I had to go. I didn’t go because of his orientation. It wasn’t a gay thing. It was a bitch thing. I opened his door and closed it behind me

Andrew Stuart Buchanan

I SIT AT THE BACK

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I SIT AT THE BACK

I hadn’t seen him in years. He asked me how I was so I told him. I asked him if he still worked there? No, he said, I’ve been doing lots of travelling. There is a whole set of people who wash ashore in Bondi every summer. He was one of the flotsam. We talked and he seemed excited to see me. He seemed more exited than the extent of our acquaintance allowed. We didn’t have enough conversation to make a friendship. He kept looking at my torso and started talking about how developed my arms were. He reached out and grabbed them twice. He made me feel sick. How come it’s always a man telling me how good I look? Oh that’s right, I live in Sydney

He asked me for my phone number so I gave it to him. He entered it into his smart-phone. It was only as I started pushing myself away I asked myself why I’d given him my number at all. He’s a geek. What use could I have for a new friend like him? I have become too trusting and too stupid. I stopped pushing my chair and punched myself in the head with my right hand. I punched myself as hard as I could. I woke up on the ground. Two schoolboys were dismantling my wheelchair. I yelled at them to piss off. They kept pulling bits from my chair until I bit the closest one on the shin of his left leg. He screamed then picked up the body of my wheelchair and slammed it on my head. I woke up again and my wheelchair was gone. My head ached and the tinnitus had jumped across to the other ear. My head felt wet. I put my hand to my right temple. I took it down in front of my vision and saw it was covered in blood

Now how am I going to get home? A tall thin man was walking past me so I pulled on the cuff of his trousers. He looked down at me annoyed before he kicked his leg out of my grasp. I grabbed his other cuff. He turned and swung down a weak punch that struck the crown of my head. It didn’t hurt. Please, I said? He looked angrier still as he spat, fuck off. I let him go and called him a bastard as he walked away. I told him I would punch him in his balls if I ever saw him again. I started shuffling backwards on my bum towards home. He shouted at me that I was all talk. I said, why don’t you turn around and say that. He kept walking. I don’t know if he didn’t hear me or couldn’t be bothered. An old man came out from his house. He looked like he was already dead. He told me he would get him. He shouted after him, I used to be a commando! I told him not to worry about it. No, he shouted, we owe it to society to show these punks something. Three neighbours came out of their door’s to see the commotion. He turned and saw his neighbours watching him and it made him have to be the hero. He grabbed his cane and started off the street after him. A woman in an apartment above me called out asking me who my money was on? Never bet on a dead man, I said, they are capable of anything

I started shuffling backwards uphill. I’ve already worn the bum out of two pairs of board-shorts just from shuffling into the pool. Not intentionally. Just by having legs and hips that don’t work properly. My bum is so bony. I can feel some innovation when I try to squeeze by bum-cheeks but nobody else can. I wore new jeans when I was in New York. They gave me a pressure sore at the top of my bum (sacrum). I now wear tracksuit pants. The draw-tie on my pants kept coming loose as I shuffled up the hill on my bum. When I’d stop and re-tie it I’d wince. My balls smelt like mushroom soup. Three little girls were skipping down the hill behind me. Saved, I thought. When they skipped past I asked them if they could go get their daddy to come help me? They turned around and looked at me. The youngest girl was holding a tiny pink and mauve parasol. She walked up and jabbed me in the Adam’s apple with the tip and screamed, bad man. My hand went up to my throat as I fell back to the concrete. I hacked. The rancid taste of bile filled my throat as the eldest kicked me in the ribs with her tiny little hard shoes. They all laughed at that and skipped off

The sun was burning my forehead as I kept putting my hands backwards to ascend the hill. I put my hand back into something squishy. I put it up to my face and saw shit. I turned behind me and saw a man standing silently while his dog was squatting on the pavement. I shouted at him that he just let his dog shit on the street. I have a bag, he said. I’ve got your dogs shit on my hands, I cried. Yeah, he said, but I’ve got a bag for it. You’ve got it all over your hand and on the back of your pants. I’m going to the police and telling them that you’ve stolen my property. He was a mug full of rusted pennies. He was an angry man of medium height and had a skin cancer on the right-hand tip of his nose. I had stolen a part of his day where he gets to connect with something that isn’t his wife. I asked him, if you’ve trained your dog to go for a shit when you’re right there why can’t you train your dog to shit in the plastic bag you carry with you? The question struck him dumb. He pulled the lead and walked away without answering. I was the one covered in shit. I finally got home on my bum

My phone rang so I picked it up. She asked me if I would like to get together to talk about religion and politics? I told her no before I hung up. That’s like talking about the existence of the Loch Ness Monster. I mean that religion and politics don’t really exist. They only seem like they do. The phone rang again and it was the same woman. She’s persistent if nothing else. She asked me why not? I said, Tony Abbott’s not going to save you when the bomb drops. Neither will Jesus for that matter. Religion and politics are constructs to keep the people in shackles. Before they existed people used to throw their shit out the window and worship the ants that stole their food. She said, aren’t you glad we’ve progressed past that? I replied, walk under my window and find out. She said, let’s get together and talk about it. I told her I would rather kiss a rattlesnake. And besides, I said, don’t you know that you’re not supposed to mention religion or politics in polite company. But you’re not polite, she said. I’ve read your stories and you’re definitely not polite. I told her that when I write I write a character. She asked, and what would your character say to me? I told her he would probably tell you to go fuck yourself or suggest you staple your flaps together. Well what would you say, she asked? I’m not as crass, I said. I would probably just stick with telling you to fuck yourself. Is that what you’re telling me, she asked. I told her no, I’d prefer to not talk. I hung up the phone and threw it out the window

I’d stopped in at Bondi Ink on the way home. JT told me he would give me a deal. I had downloaded and put five images of Sugar Skulls on my USB stick. I gave it to my tattoo artist who put it in his computer. Nothing came up on his screen. He asked me if I had a Mac? I told him yes and he said that his PC couldn’t read Mac. I left the shop and saw a woman I know walking past. She asked what I was doing? I told her I was trying to organise my next tattoo. I told her I was covering an existing one. Don’t get another tattoo, she said. A classy man wouldn’t have another tattoo. Who’s classy, I asked? You are, she said. I told her she was wrong. I told her that I once fucked two different women on the same night and then went home and had to fuck my girlfriend. I couldn’t come for her. I wasn’t even classy enough to wash my dick in the sink between. That was before, she said. I can tell you have class now. I told her to mind her own business. She told me she considered it be her business. The back of my hand rubbed my chin as I asked, why don’t you go fuck yourself? She said I’ve already done that today with my vibrator. Okay, I said, then go staple your… Go staple my what, she asked? I thought about saying it. I didn’t need to say it. My character stands alone

class? I sit at the back

Andrew Stuart Buchanan