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Australia Day single work   short story  
Issue Details: First known date: 2012... 2012 Australia Day
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'I Say Let's call Australia Day 'Caveman Day' and Steve looks at me and says what, cunt. Then he tilts his head back and laughs and I guess it's a joke because he gets up and asks what I'm drinking. I tell him a Carlton and he brings back two double Jack and Cokes. He leans in and whispers you know who I fucking hate and I stay silent and he says them fucking panheads. Then the girl next to us starts laughing like she's shocked even though they've been dating for two years and he says yeah, them fucking panheads. You know why they call them panheads? I look around and wonder if anyone is going to guess and no-one does and he says 'cause it looks like someone hit them with a fucking shovel... or a pan... in the head. Several people grunt but it might be a tinnie opening, or a burp, and I'm wondering what will happen if I order a soda water with lime. There's more chatter between the boys and someone calls someone else a faggot and punches them in the penis. It's probably 40 degrees and apart from the smooth lime taste, that carbonated refreshment, the real reason I want a soda water with lime is because I'm terribly dehydrated and hydration is an essential component of the human body. I'm looking at the bar, or at least what I think is the bar, but I can't really tell because I'm as blind as a bat without my glasses and my eyes are allergic to contacts. At work last year one of the boys slapped me on the back and said hey, four eyes. What you wearing those things for? What are ya? A pussy? And I said no and then put on an accent and said I was playing a joke, wasn't I, heard there's some new kid coming who wears glasses. What an idiot, ha ha. He started grunting and told me I was a classic which is good because now I don't get picked on but I literally cannot see a thing without my glasses...'  (Publication abstract)

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  • Appears in:
    y separately published work icon Voiceworks no. 89 Winter 2012 16748349 2012 periodical issue 'For a few years I lived in a tiny beachside town six hours from Melbourne. It was the kind of place with postcard-perfect shorelines, mudbrick houses and a prep-to–year  twelve college. So, even in a combined classroom, there were only ten other kids in my class, the majority of whom weren’t mad keen on books. These being the dark days of dial-up, whatchya saw was pretty much whatchya got in terms of a peer group – and even worse, selection at the school library. After moving to suburbia, the hourlong train ride into the city felt like teleportation in super-slow motion. The pull of those corporate towers sheltering hidden cafes was physical. Like an undertow or tractor beam. By the time adolescence kicked in proper, I was caught up in a powerful question familiar to all fledgling artists: once you realise you’re a writer, what next? I’d already taught myself to like coffee and some Silvia Plath. Now I wanted more.' (Kat Muscat, Editorial introduction) 2012 pg. 53-55
Last amended 6 Jun 2019 13:45:05
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