the kid in the blunt slut t shirt
Ballina is a Zen town. You play by intuition.
This fellow in front of me in the bank queue with his girlfriend or maybe his sister, both young dark and sharp. You have enough time in places like this to look for hints of origin in streetwear and none of the clobber they were wearing came out of Gooleys on River Street or Vinnies just around the corner.
The back of his long-sleeved T had Blunt Slut worded up above a picture of a ganja field and below a cigar-sized blunt just lit. Solid images, good colour composition. Sharp.
Fifty bucks somewhere guaranteed.
But there was a problem with the ganja because it looked to the untrained eye to be skinny enough to be throwing gonads – seed pods – this nobody in the business wants so I’m told because seeds are dead weight.
This means the guy who took the shot and sold it to the T printer was not at the top of his trade. He could have done better.
But what do I know, I’m older than this kid’s Granddad.
I lean forward.
‘Scuse me, mate?’
The kid half-turns, sees me then turns away. Who wouldn’t? Blokes my age are supposed to be on another planet.
But that’s ok because there’s only one thing I have left to say, it’s just a pity I never caught his eye at the time I said it. He might have smiled and that would have made us more like brothers. Now all I’ve got is the back of his young head.
‘That’s a pretty scrappy looking grow on the back of your shirt there, bro.’
bud image from high times magazine
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