The madness is explained - it's pension day! Everyone's hard earned dole cheques etc have gone into bank accounts, which explains all the fighting, chasing and hordes of aboriginal people streaming back and forth past my place carrying 24 pack slabs of Emu Bitter on their shoulders. Did you know that prams make a great trolley for carrying your beer supply? The toddler can just stumble along in bare feet behind you.
As soon as I got home, a rather inebriated older fellow beckoned to me over the fence, wanting me to take him and his friend (also drunk) to the hospital. Not wanting to be knifed or hit over the head with a bottle en route, I suggested calling the hospital, ambulance, community bus or police. "You call em, I not got a phone sista." He was starting to sound aggressive and my instincts were telling me the whole thing was dodgy, so I just said sorry & that I had no phone credit left. The dogs, exhausted after a day of sleeping at the hostel, were asleep in the back room (great, thanks, good work dogs).
Next thing I know, he's wandering drunk in the middle of the main road trying to wave down vehicles; amazingly, no one stopped. I went off to sit on the verandah, where I could hear Lynette all the way up at the pensioner's satanic filth pits (she has a distinctively hideous crow like shrieking voice). It sounded like the fight wasn't suffering from any lack of enthusiasm even after several hours, with the demented chihuahuas acting as a sort of cortex-piercing Greek chorus. It's gone quiet now finally, so everyone must be exhaustedly sitting around a burning mattress finishing off the last of the Emu Bitter and gnawing on their roast chihuahua portions.
Gary helped me unload some stuff from the bus and got paint on his shirt, which he removed with some handy paint thinner, and it reeked. I sent him into fits by suggesting he stand out on the footpath and charge the kids a dollar each to sniff him. Why not try to get some of our tax dollars back?
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