Monday, 25 April 2016

Il est Mort...snippet.

"Jeezus, isn't life beaut." Jim came back from the dunny out the back. 
"Just did a ripper of a shit.When your bloody guts falls out. Really satisfying."
"Oh." Crispin wondered if it was appropriate to talk about toilet habits with your next door neigbour.
"Know what I mean?"
"Um." It was a subject Crispin had never really discussed with anyone.
"The wife knows what I mean."
"You talk to your wife about bowel movements?
"Doesn't everyone? She's my best mate."
"Is she?"
"You bet. Bloody love her to bits. Don't you love yours?"
"Well, yes. of course I do."
"Well do you show her you love her?"
"Well, yes of course I do." Crispin thought of the holidays, the jewels, the dinners at Giovannis, the plays the house, the cars. 
"I bite Deb's bum."
It sounded like a much cheaper option. "OH."
"She loves it. Calls me 'the predator.'"
"Does she."
'Yeah." Jim gazed into the fire a contented man."
Crispin ruminated on the last words his wife had said to him. "Why don't you just drop dead." In no context could they be called terms of endearment.


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