There will be no Poetry Slam Friday tomorrow as I will be in Sydney with the family*.
In lieu of this, I present a passage from Paradise Updated by Mic Looby.
All of it is a pretty good read but this passage just struck me as a wonderful piece of writing for some reason.
The anti-hero, Richard Rind, is in some hellish, third-world airport reflecting sourly on the “independent travellers” streaming past him.
And all the while, barging past, mocking him with their exuberance, fresh-faced travellers revelled in the tedium and red tape. The fools. This was the nonsense of travel. This was the great lie. Travelling for pleasure was a contradiction in terms. Not that he expected those braying backpackers to understand. They finished school yesterday, and now, brimming with credit-card-fuelled bravado and decked out in the latest, skimpiest wash-and-wear wonder-garments, they were off to somewhere foreign to get drunk and have orgies, because that was what all their friends did. Well they could rut all they liked. They’d learn.
I do like some invective.
*Hey Kettle, it looks like the Sydney public transport ticketing system kind of sucks. Can you confirm?