Me and My Mosquito Friends
On that trip, if you can call it a trip, Adie wore the same hat constantly, and this faded blue, slightly bobbly, striped vest. He also smoked constantly, in that intentionally nonchalant way people do when they’re in their live-fast-die-young stage. He didn’t live particularly fast, and he wasn’t too young either – 27 is too old for that phase if you ask me. But that’s the French for you, isn’t it.
Not Our First Rodeo
‘How was that yoga the other day?’ Paul says. He’s standing as if he’s carrying a rolled up carpet under each arm. Invisible Bulk Syndrome, I call it. Paul hasn't broken a sweat in a decade, since he retired from our rugby club citing a finger injury.
Fancy Seeing You Here
It was in a real roundabout way that I came to end up at Donkey Boy’s house at six in the morning. The night before had been wild as anything, one of those extremely dumb parties. Everyone drinking plastic-bottled cider like their life depended on it, girls puking in the garden, boys puking in the hallway, neighbours banging on the walls. Grass and oven chips and ciderpuke smushed across the kitchen floortiles.