“No, you definitely can’t see the Big Dipper from Dunsandle, but you can see the Southern Cross alright!”
She didn’t acknowledge me, but I knew she’d heard and understood.
I looked down at her again.
“You really are a cutie,” I cooed.
Still no response; her fuscous eyes staring, fixating on the galaxies high above, pure amazement on her face.
I’d only just met her.
I’d just popped out of the Hall to smoke a durry and take a piss. I’d walked around the side of the old wooden building towards the domain behind, peering into the windows as I went by. I’d briefly watched Athol Simmons in the Hall Office, trying his hardest to familiarise himself with Glenys Hollis’s topography. While Athol struggled to unhinge Glenys’s bra, the Kirwee Cooees played their interpretation of Lonnie Donegan’s “Cumberland Gap”. It seemed way too appropriate.
I kept walking, nearly tripping over…
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