exodus

Today we are basting with rasping throats, the landscape is speckeled with heat waves and phlegm. My throat has become an antique landcruiser rattling it's way along dirt roads.
The heat always makes me so damn carniverous. I am camel sausages and slabs of beer. I am practicing reconcilliation on long distance phone calls, reciting landmarks in my career.

Everyone is packing up and driving east, somewhere away from the heat and the flies and the moths and the stones that trap sunshine to emit onto houses at night. Four wheel drives seek out highways to places, mouths frothing like cuppacinnos, chasing those city lights reflected in broken white lines.

And me? For now I am left on the island with my alcoholism and bleeding throat. Talking to the half breed dingo about heat waves and swapping hustling techniques. I am left to negotiate nocturnal bike rides past camp dogs, left to pace the sand and climb the hills. To wait on the outcomes of credit card applications and plan my next move.