Sneak peek #4

Chapter 3: Bongs For Steve

“STEVE was an idiot.” Another line I remember from Steve’s last night alive. And so simple a line. I am certain that this quote is accurate. Especially as I am quoting myself. “Steve was an idiot,” I told Roland, after we had made inroads into Steve’s bag. We sat facing one another, smoking and drinking and talking, across a corner of Roland’s table at Abbotsford, the kitchen-side corner nearest the blue rear-side wall against which Steve on that prior occasion had stood out so sharply. I imagine that we had both been thinking quietly about what it might mean to have lost Steve. When I thought about Steve, it was common for me to reconstruct a journey we had taken, on one chilly night in the Keppel Street era, the three of us together, to a pinball parlour in North Carlton – Matt’s Blue Room, or for us simply Matt’s. Roland asleep in the back of Steve’s Kingswood wagon, on the foam rubber slab that Steve kept there permanently, the rear seat folded down to accept it. Steve at the wheel. We had downed a few bongs, perhaps several, and it had been quite late – perhaps between one and two, wee hours with which we had become very familiar.

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