Ten minutes to Sydney

“It was at the Anglican Church, a couple of streets from the bad side of town, when the kid on a bike rode past.

“Hey! Boy! Hey.”

He walked a couple of steps before turning around. The kid had stopped and he didn’t want any trouble.

“Yeah, what’s up mate?”

“Do you have a cigarette?”

“Nah, sorry mate.”

“Shit.”

“Sorry.”

“Hey, wait!”

“Yeah?”

“Can you buy me a packet?”

“…yeah, alright then. Hang on, the newsagent is shut.”

“You can buy ‘em at the Video Ezy; they have the cheapest smokes in town.”

The kid dismounted and they walked down the main street, past the closed shops, to the tiny arcade. 

“What do you do? Do you live here?”

“Yeah, I live here. At the end of the street. I live above the café.”

The kid nodded.

“Do you have a missus?”

“… yeah. She’s over in Coffs; in hospital.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry too.”

“Get me Longreach lights. 25’s. Or if they don’t have that: Longreach full-strength.”

“OK.”

He walked along the arcade and to the video store at the back of the block. He came back with a packet and the kid's money.

“They only had menthol.”

“Ask them for full-strength.”

“I did. They only have menthol.”

“Uh, OK.”

“Here.”

“Nah, you keep the change. You bought ‘em; you keep the change. That’s the rule.”
The kid lit up a menthol.

“What are you doing now? Do you want to smoke cigarettes, have a yarn?”

“Nah, I actually have to get on a flight soon.”

“Where are you going?”

“Sydney. I have to catch a taxi pretty soon.”

“Right.”

“Yeah, I have to go in like fifteen, ten minutes."

“Uh.”

“See you.”

“Yeah.”

He continued down the main street. Near the Council building the kid rode up to him.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come back with you? I can stay for ten minutes.”

“No, I really have to leave soon.”

The kid turned and rode off. There was no one else on the street. The sun was dropping quickly. It was going to be dark by the time he got to the airport.

He waited to cross over the bitumen as a semi-trailer turned into the street. The kid came around the corner, again on his BMX.

“Look. I can suck. I can fuck. I can do whatever you like.”

“No. No, that’s OK. I’m not interested.””

“Then I went upstairs, sat around for half an hour and took the plane to Sydney.”

“Jimmy!”

“What?”

“It was Jimmy Hendrix.”

She giggled.

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Yes, it was Jimmy. They keep telling me he’s dead. But I’m like, ‘If he’s dead, then why is he sleeping in the room next to mine!’”

“Right. But you do know that Jimi isn’t alive?”

“Not the real Jimmy. I mean Jimmy Hendrix!”