figuring out old-new friendships over seven kinds of cheese, wine and seafood, sandstone and sea views.
we walk to pyramid rock, over pigface and fox bait. down the cliff to rock pools where we find lady-garden anemones and starfish mid-feast. dead baby seals on the rocks and gulls beak down in the sand. dad jokes wash up at high-tide alongside half a surfboard and a computer: somebody crashed surfing the internets.
i haven't been a passenger since May. not in a driving way, at least. maybe on weekends away.
driving home alone tonight, slightly wired by sleeping platonic, late lunch lasagne, RRR and iced tea, i come home you, tradie vehicle, in my spot. my voice cracking while i leave a message on the landline signwritten on your truck. hi mate. you've parked in my spot. stop it. it's fkn annoying.
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