the grey suburbs flash by in a dull haze of concrete and electric light, at that time of the day that is neither day nor night. we are in the front seat of a car while an eager, frantic adolescent boy grimly concentrates on the road, foot hard to the floor. now on wet, winding country roads, dark vegetation surrounding. the youth loses control of the steering, in panic i grit my teeth, squeeze shut my eyes and clench my fingers around my boy to anchor him to my side. the vehicle comes to a jerky halt, stopped by a tree i guess. the driver is slumped over the steering-wheel, blood dripping in a viscous pool from his matted hair and skull.
we get out of the car and brush ourselves off. over the hill-side and cliffs in the murky twilight i can see the string of lights like a necklace, of the suburb where i grew up. we can walk from here, its not far to my shack on the pot-hole ridden dirt road next to the beach.
we reach the main road where the tavern and the shops are, when i become aware that we are both dreaming. as i soon as i realise this, the vision changes, the township in the distance becoming unreal. a big fluffy pink clock tower appears, everything looks soft, pastel and eerily toy-townish, the people are stuffed animated dolls with glass eyes. we laugh comparing our visions, pointing hysterically at a group of stuffed besuited stock-broker dolls in navy pin-stripe suits, drunkenly chasing a taxi around the carpark of the tavern.
we turn up rifle range road through the bush away from the squat buildings. a naked woman jogs past indifferent to our gaze. her breasts like great footballs mesmerise us as they jump with great dramatic effect on her chest. the road is now a corridor, and a little grubby beggar-boy crouches in a doorway with an outstretched foodbowl asking for 'potatoes and more'. i try to save him but this angers the naked football boob woman. she waits at the end of the corridor with a hammer swinging in one clenched fist, and grabs me by the hair as i try to escape the hammer's deadly weight. i give in to death, thinking 'oh well its probably a really interesting experience', and i rise above the scene, leaving my battered body, and the anguished, disbelieving boy. dispassionately i survey the corridor, the road and then the whole of the suburb that looks now suspiciously like a big rainbow cake on a platter.
copyright 1994 lisa bode