I liked it when I came to your house in my gold skirt with the pleats and I wasn’t wearing any undies and when you realised you lifted up my skirt just to be sure. It was easy to sleep over and spend the next day with you. We smoked a joint at two in the afternoon after our breakfast sandwiches, which had avocado, tomato, beetroot, feta and snowpea sprouts. You chose the feta, I chose the snowpea sprouts and beetroot. I think my choices were better and I think I said so at the time. I rolled the joint, using weed that I drove forty-five minutes one-way to buy. I immediately felt the onset of that self-loathing mixed with sheepish contentment you get from smoking in the daytime. We fell asleep and when I woke up I remembered how when my friend was six he thought his superpower was being able to go to sleep anywhere and wake up in his own bed. He would actively try to fall asleep in busy situations like shopping centres, when he was hours from his bed. I told you the story and you laughed. My friend’s dad is big and girth-y, like a mushroom. It is fun to think of him carrying my sleeping infant friend up the stairs. My friend’s mum lost thirteen kilos in eight weeks, but she isn’t depressed. Now her triceps look a little like pancakes. One time she was attacked by a dog. The dog beat itself up her body, scrambling with its paws at her clothes, barking relentlessly like breathing and it looked as if it had a pendulum rising between its eyes, it seemed its brain was swinging wildly. My friend’s mum was screaming and her little pancake triceps were flapping like that weird thing that turkeys have under their chin, but it wasn’t funny, it was scary. It was the afternoon and we were all out in the street together because my friend’s mum had just done some shopping and required our help bringing it inside. My friend always got annoyed with her for needing his help when friends were over, he always had friends over, she said. In their street many of the houses look the same, they are all a kind of modern classy beige. A lady came running from a house screaming CHARLIE or REX or some other dog name like that and at once the dog dropped to the floor in a ball and rolled on its back and I saw that the dog was ashamed and embarrassed and that slowly his swinging madness was beginning to settle, and he looked confused. All of a sudden it was a small dog, but stocky and something like a dingo. My friend’s mum backed away quickly and her face was a scattered mixture of tears and sweat. The dog got put down one day later and the next time I went over to my friend’s place we got stoned. I told you this as well and afterwards you said,

“For some reason mums are always sadder to think about than dads.”


Sasha Rose writes and does other things in Melbourne, Australia. Contact her: sasha.angel.rose@

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