memory/nostalgia exercise

Facing backwards towards foggy windows:

Joe, The lumpy Athenian, stands before the vinyl-strip doorway to Joe’s Fruit, half- cigarette in one hand, half-nectarine in the other. Aunty Renee scrunches red and lays another egg onto that same floral couch and I still can’t figure out how she does it. Giancarlo, wearing only briefs, takes his place at the table before any of us - loose-legged, hairy and oblivious – and prematurely parmesans his custom sized bowl of Gnocchi whilst angling his chair towards the TV in the other room. More cross-eyed than usual, Anthony Glass hurls something sharp and fast through the suburban air or blows up a small section of someone’s driveway. I fold another cardboard stick of collector-card gum over my tongue and dust excess powder from the top card’s face. Got it…got it…got it…don’t have it…got it…got it…got it. A maniacal John Arrowsmith pierces Ms Iacono’s outer thigh with the inside of a blue Bic ballpoint and Colin Moroney claims he needs that machete to open his can of baked beans. This capsicum isn’t a capsicum; it’s a hot-as-hell chilli masquerading as a capsicum. Skulls and pink lightning on a hang-ten tank top. I’m stung by a bee or maybe it’s a wasp. Dad has a beard; Uncle Alan likes women; Rachael’s caught in the clothes-line. Jessica’s doing the Ninja, Damien’s perfecting The Three Amigos salute and Mum’s singing Do You Hear the People Sing - AGAIN.

I promise I didn’t lock myself in the stationary cabinet.

It’s not a dustpan – it’s a farage.

I love Stephanie from Full House and I know she’ll love me too.