ERROL PARKER | Editor-at-large | Contact
A local man who uses a computer to do things in exchange for money has dreamed a dream this afternoon.
One where he’s not in Betoota’s bustling financial district, nor in the bohemian enclaves of the French Quarter. Or even on the trolleybus heading home to our town’s burgeoning Betoota Heights sprawl.
But one where he’s in Galle, standing on the iconic fort wall. There’s a box of absolutely ice-cold Lion Lagar stubbies within arms reach and to his right, on top of his backpack, two packets of proper duty-free Asian smokes from the layover in KL. In front of him is some Test cricket and the Aussies are ahead and putting on a clinic. Someone, probably an ethnic Victorian, rolls out a hotel bedsheet with ‘The Shane Warne Stand’ painted on it in block letters.
The sun isn’t too hot but it is actually quite hot still. There’s a breeze. Needing a piss, he looks around. What comforts him is seeing the local sports fans putting a hand against a wall and letting it all slide out and down the other side of the wall. He joins them and they nod.
When stumps is called, he’s well on his way and full to the gills with nicotine. One of his mates takes the lead and says “Follow me, boys. We’re going drinking in the Fort.” and the rest of them couldn’t be happier with that. Every trip to a place like Galle needs someone in the group with a bit of confidence, someone who’d back themselves to get back to the hotel with a flat phone and a head full Colombo bush weed.
They head into town and find somewhere to eat. More Lions. Fuck this food is hot. They’re out of smokes, it’s time to find themselves some of the local John Player Specials. A real smoke, the leader assures them. They head out of the last bar out to watch the sea, and to smoke their last smokes.
I can’t wait until tomorrow, one of them says.
Then he opened his eyes as the phone rang.
