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302 pages, Paperback
First published September 15, 2015
Joe killed the flame and took the stairs. On the quiet street, cigarette in his mouth, he lit up, took one drag then gave it to gravity. Joe wasn’t a serious smoker; he just liked the motions: the theatrics of blazing up after suburban shakedowns. It was part of his crusade on movie talkers.
When most people are asked about the worst moment of their lives, there’s usually a shortlist of contenders. Like a list of Top Ten Bad Movies – they’re all there for different reasons. For Joe, there was only one day that took the terrible title. It was winter, he was fourteen, and in one of the hospital’s many waiting rooms, Alice, his girlfriend of one year, had slipped into a coma.
Underneath in the wet darkness was his world for solace and quietude. Apart from sitting alone in a cinema wrapped in wall-to-wall fiction, underwater was the only other time he felt okay. Okay when you can stop from it all and actually take time from your woes.
Outside the window, through open shutters, he could see his sister Loren. She was hanging out Mom’s clothes on the line beside the dramatic conservatory. Sundresses, skirts, shirts. All part of their daily routine to paint a picture of parent presence to keep nosy neighbours at bay and the authorities away.
Snack consumption was legal but Joe expected anyone dining on the distracting shit to synchronize chewing with car chases and shootouts regardless of the genre. The Popcorn Pig was treating the space like a pie-eating contest. The buttery snack was his instrument and he was doing a sound check with the venue’s acoustics. The elderly woman became more unsettled by his riotous feasting, which gave Joe reason to intervene sooner.