Prime television news learns of my story. I like this. It means I no longer have to shout so loud to get my message heard.
For my grand opening at Lismore Regional Gallery I storm in on Platanito. I decare to the people of this town that I have come across many perils. I tell them that I have ridden with the punks of Casino and that I have had to push Platanito over the Great Dividing Range. But I say that none of these challenges compare to Lismore on Sundays. They seem to understand this. This town is like a deserted bus stop on gods day of rest. I tell these people that I felt more lonely on Sunday in Lismore than when I was stuck in Ebor.
Here I am meeting with the mayor of Lismore. We have much to discuss. She says to me that I must be an industrious man to have built Platanito and to have done what I have done. I tell her that yes I am a man.
We move in close to exchange secrets. She tells me that if I want I can have the keys to the pueblo. I tell her of my plans to solve the Lismore Sunday crisis.
Later on at the party things start to get a little crazy!. This flacita says to me that my collar is a little dangerous. She believes that if I get too close I might pierce her neck and any meaningful interaction will be lost.
I tell her not to worry. I show her that my frilled neck is indicative of my mood. I say sure there is danger but don’t you want to know what your man is feeling.
The party ends in the way that all parties should end. At some point the night deteriorates into a debauched cycle where potential memories are abandoned. I know dear reader that this must be frustrating for you since I have shared every nuance of my adventure. You must be asking, why keep your cartes so close to your chest now!
Well let me respond by telling you that there is simply no point in recalling such abjectivities. They are so abstract that to put them into words would sound like bad haiku. In a way I feel I have finally understood Ron Robertson-Swans abominable creation, The Yellow Peril. Sometimes words just cannot express the true grotesqueries of this world.
Poetry in Motion!
and still single…
This is magnificent. Mr Labamba radiates suave masculinity. Platanito is a gorgeous mare. When the motto “dare to dream” surrounds such beautiful beings, I can almost believe it to promise something other than errant madness, misery and failure.
Ya know you speak true words about Lismore’s Sunday ghost town situation.