Slow

It's getting hotter up here now. And slower. Hotter and slower and stickier. The wet season rolls in, the nutters come out, the crocs are awake, the mozzies are back. The swamps and the oceans, the air and the grass are all teeming with life that can kill you. But it's so beautiful...

'Follow me' he says, taking my hand.

I slip his grip and turn back. 'No way. There are crocs. I can feel them'.

'There are no crocodiles, Trust me.'

'Why should I trust you? What do you know? You're just a white bloke from Noosa!'

He didn't like that. He was trying to make like a man and leading me into the great unknown was his primitive romance. There was a time I would have followed him. But those days are gone. This is why men like younger women.

'I wish I knew you before you were hurt' he says. As if he can read my heart's history. 'I bet you do', I think. 'I probably would have given you a pity fuck. But pity you, those days are over.'

I don't say this. I say 'I like me better now.'

This seems to turn him on.

He says 'Lets do a business together. You got a hundred and sixty grand? I'll put in a hundred and sixty and we'll get something moving!'

I liked him better the way I knew him. In the yoga class, where he didn't speak.

'What makes you think I've got that sort of money?'

'You've got money. I can smell it on you. I can smell it in a down wind.'



12/24/09