Did You Pack The Moral Intuition - Part 2

“I need a job, can you get me a job?”, Carly blurts excitedly. The pollie looks up at the fine young lass dolefully. Her big wide smile smothers the situation; the look in her eyes is carefree and simple. She picks up a fresh beer and takes another long mindful sip as the Pollie and I watch on.
“Yeah I might be able to get you a job”, he lied
“She’s just finished a journo/PR degree ‘ya know”, I helpfully interject seeing that she’s given him nothing other then an infectious smile to work with,
“Oh in that case I can definitely get you a job”. His head straightened –he laughed a big booming laugh – and looked back at her approvingly.

I quickly grasp the phone from my pocket and slam down on the keys awkwardly. It’s frustratingly difficult while skilfully juggling the phone as well as the delicious soda.

“Quick update, you never know what will happen in Darwin. Be serious, we could get you a serious job out of it. I’m a bluff… that’s how I get jobs… It’s never about skill!”

But the message came through late, I caught onto the conversation again and Carly was apologizing.

“I’ll only be here a short time, we’re going to South East Asia”, she announces cheerfully. Her pale skin amongst these tall tanned brutes make her look so small and fragile, eloquent in some strange way, like a freshly opened flower on a cold morning mist, just moments away from the farmers open blade slasher.

“Oh, I’m drunk. Please help me. I’m trying”, her reply reads.

“Haha just bullshit and ask for a job. It’s like we found a gold deposit which is untouched. It’s an easy place to find riches in places you would have thought were worthless”.

I’m obviously very drunk by this stage, but the words seem right. I’ve watched this happen in West Oz, it’s everyone’s game. Riches ready for the plucking.

The pollie however has read the play and we lose his interest. He tells us he would be able to find something if she wanted to stay longer but it’s a missed opportunity I gather.

Meanwhile Heath has shuffled off in a booze induced fantasy, thinking that he’ll beat old one-eyed pirate tooth at a game of darts. A game ‘old mate’ has been mastering for the past few hours, and before long he’s bailing me up.

“Where’s your mate gone?” Crusty one-eye interrupts “He owes me my money”

His body moves awkwardly, one patch affixed across his eye and a tanned leathery completion dressed in smudged tattoos of years before which probably involved many a dart board. What sort of stories he’ll be able to share after some turps, I’m left wondering.

“I think he’s gone to get the money. He’ll be back shortly” I inform the crazy, He looks at me awhile as if not to believe my humble words then grunts doubtfully and moves off.

Truthfully, I have no idea and what more, why does he owe him money and how much? I survey the balcony and notice the pollies also gone, slinked off into the filthy corners of the night I guess. Crap, just my luck, stuck here with the old one-eyed loon…

Carly and I sit around chatting for a little while – its gibberish. I want her to understand the logic behind serious jobs; it’s about not being serious… Take the money and run with it. You make it through three months, they realise your useless at worst and it’s too late, cashed up, fly away. On the other hand, she just wants me to realise she’s 20, adorable and trying to have some fun. Maybe the West Oz has got the better of me and now I’m stuck in this uncontrollable loop of stupidity, like an electric wired cupcake – mmm delicious cupcake. Heath sneaks in and taps me on the shoulder.

“Man I got to win this hundred bucks back, I can win this hundred back”.
“It’s as good as gone mate”, I reply stiffly “You’re not thinking right and your boong drunk”.

On que as if listening to our conversation, old patchworks waddles over to the rotting wooden bench where we sit…

“You want another game”, he gurgles raucously.
“I’ll let you take his hundred” I tell ‘old mate’, “But I’m not going to let you take another”. The one-eye two legged pirate chuckles calmly.
Heaths eyes are fixed on his opposition. His testosterone bubbles through his veins like a mad scientist’s magic concoction over a Bunsen burner.

“Lets go to the pub” Carly suggests carefully, using some of that retarded womanly way of persuasion of hers. It breaks his train wreck of thought, he hands old one-eye the coin in a vice like shake and then turns to Carly smiling delighted.

“Let’s go”