spot fires
An exchange overheard today at the Eltham Hotel which is west of Bangalow. Dry country even this close to the coast. Grasslands that crackle underfoot, neighbour’s cattle agisted, burn piles growing.
An old fellow wearing brown and brown walked up to another old fellow who was sitting at a table and decked out in a vivid red hat, blood-red Hawaiian shirt, crimson trousers and lipstick red boots.
He stopped, leant over and said, ‘mate, if I was you I’d be careful wearing that outfit around here. If the firies spot you, they’ll put you out.’
Then he walked away.
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