grog frenzy

The door to the bottle shop was crowded by 1:30pm. You could feel the tension in the plaza; people sitting at tables, sipping on coke, rocking overloaded trolleys, fidgeting.

I'm one of the door way skulkers. I've got a whole fish in my bag. Two young bogans come to join their mother whose perched near the doorways. 'first time I've seen whitefellas lining up 'ere' she'd remarked as she pulled up. I've seen her round town before-last time she had laryngitis, her voice shrill and rasping about 'that cunt who makes her sick'. I wonder if that cunt is the man who stands in the doorway with her now. He looks like the father of her children, they share the same stumpy neck.

Theres a young couple standing next to her. He looks like a bogan as well, poking her in the belly, asking if she got the pumpkin and the sweet potaoe and peas. She's tierd, eyes rolling as he instructs her to get two bottles of red and a white and a champas will he gets a slab from the back.

It's 2:01. The staff are still methodically unstacking boxes and counting out the till. The young bogan kicks the roller door, eyes flashing as he turns round to smile at the family. His father nods in approval. He kicks it again. The crowd begin to get agitated. The manger opens the roller door. We stream in all grog frenzied. End up bottle necked at the register. I slink away quickely before the riots begin.