Interior, night. Anna comes in from the bath shed carrying a bucket of hot water for the dishes while the steak sizzles on the old gas stove and the sweet potatoes burn quietly in a bed of coals. Honey, Smokey and Ethel are all snoozing in their beds and a crescent moon rises over the serenity of the remote bush camp. In the soft, warm light of the fire, using a quaint, home-made rasp discovered in the diesel shed, Gary is filing his new teeth.
A: How do they feel?
G: Warsght?
A: Your teeth. Did you get them to fit?
G: Carrghn yergh thppellth wookgh goorgh?
A: What?
G: Durfthgh ey fllookgh goorgh?
A: I'll go and get the spittoon.
They look very handsome. Right now he is showing them to Honey. Everyone in Main Street cheered when I picked them up at the post office and waved them up high yelling "News of the year! Gary Hammer's teeth have arrived!" It's fun living in a small town. Hopefully by this time next year we will be able to understand Gary again.
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