Down the Porcelain, Rabbit Hole
Keep Pushing On Things Are Gonna Get Better
It was a boys' weekend, so it started that way, with them downstairs shouting, “Lebo, hurry, we’re gonna hit the traffic!”
And me frantically packing at the last minute, “I’m coming man, just grabbing my shit,” I shouted from the balcony.
Seconds later, I slid into the backseat, slammed the door and we were on the highway. Tunes banging and the car bopping on its way.
We beat the traffic, sneaking ahead of the Friday City exodus, holiday makers and early-work-leavers, zipping together into a languishing hot steel snake.
One little red car zooming along ahead of the tide. The City fell away, the ‘Burbs blurred passed, and the wine lands gave way to rural farmlands.
Hours later, car parked, tents up, we stood on the tree lined dance floor grinning at each other. Among the press of bodies and lasers we shouted.
“Down the hatch!”
“Off to Neverland!”
“Bah-bye now!”
Silly little war cries to steel our nerves as we plunged down yet another psychedelic slide into madness.
I hesitated, watched them swallow their party favours. Then hurriedly did the same — it’d been a…
