Chapter 3
Mornings are strange occurrences. My parents, for example, love them. When they go to the beach, they're up at 4.30 to watch the fucking sunrise. Don't get me wrong, I've got nothing against sunrises. I just prefer seeing them through bloodshotpeakingonatripstonedastheCookieMonsteronaplateofhashcookieseyes rather than sleep-stained eyes.
I swear, I'm a disaster in the morning. Unless I have a glass of goon, a Marlboro 16 and a brekkie cone, I have real difficulties coping with anything before 11 AM. Oh yeah, I forgot. I need coffee, and lots of it, just to get me moving. But I guess that goes without saying.
My friend Lisa is so fucking lazy when she gets up in the morning, she can't be bothered putting the kettle on and waiting out those first eternal minutes where the only thing worth living for is that cup of steaming instant coffee. No. She's that fucking lazy she goes straight to the hot water tap, turns it on, fills her mug and then adds the three heaped tablespoons of coffee and sugar that she so flagrantly and vivaciously adores. I kid you not.
Then again, Lisa's one of the few friends I have that can keep up with me when I'm drinking; she's one of my only friends who shares my deep love for cheap Fruity Lexia and probably the only friend who doesn't moan when I bring a bottle of Passion Pop to a dinner party as an example of a great Australian wine. 1995 was an excellent year for sparkling passion flavoured wine. A fine drop indeed
Fruity Lexia, along with Lisa, is one of the few constants in my life. Fruity Lexia will never change in quality and although I'm an atheist, I thank the great Allah, Buddha and Jesus H for hang him up Christ for that one. My favourite and faithful friend. Goon is a four litre word.