I was crunching the gears and bunnyhopping before we’d even started. Sticks.
30 year old cant drive a stick. And he’s trying to take his mum for a beach bash to the creek in a borrowed rust-bucket.
The lads in the back were quiet until Mum started giving me shit.
“Fuck sakes… hill starts are tricky when you don’t have a handbrake”
The rusted thing lurches and starts to roll backwards down the hill.
“You don’t have to make excuses son HAHAHAHA”
Sniggers from the back.
Dammit. Open Season on the goose. Me.
It was good once I got through the resort. Onto the beach. Nice packed sand. Feels like you’re driving faster than you are when you’re right on the water. Feels good.
We didn’t get any fish down the creek. I never caught shit down there. It was always more about getting down there. Its a pretty spot. At night, its insane. The stars bouncing right off the water, the sound of Barra jumping in the black and nothing else.
Following tracks on the way back. Saw some Cows grazing on the beach. They always looked so strange. Those beach cows…