Be My Yoko Ono
We're sitting there sipping our coffees quickly- it's cold outside and Nat wants to grab a beer somewhere else. 'Do you hear from Nifty at all?' she asks between caffeine gulps. Nifty is Micah's brother. Back in the Arthouse days he and I were the best of friends. Inseparable. Like co-joined twins sharing a heart, like Bert & Ernie sans homosexual undertones. Until Kim. In comes Kim, out goes "inseparable".
'What's Kim like?' asks Nat.
'Honestly? She's Yoko. She has the soul of a scorpion. She'd get upset if you used words that she didn't understand because she thought we'd be making fun of her (which, admittedly, would be a correct assumption most of the time). One day I walked out of my bedroom to find the whole lounge room rearranged by Her. She wasn't even living there at the time!!'
'So what did Nifty see in her?'
Who knows? There's no such thing as a perfect carpet. Love is a rabid rottweiler. It doesn't matter if certain people use your heart as a pinata-you love 'em anyway.
'Did I tell you he's living in a place called Moronville up in Canada? I'm not making this up.'
Nat snorts a mouthful of coffee and laughs. 'What's it like?' she asks when she's sufficiently recovered.
'Haven't got a clue. Seems pretty boring. Of the three phone calls I've got from Nift in the last five or so years I reckon it's one of those places where people drink beer on their rooftops. Shotguns on laps. Box of tissues near their stack of Guns & Ammo.'
Coffees are finished. We get up to get some beer.
Objects in mirror may be fatter than they appear,