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“I’m not enjoying you right now.”


“What do you mean? It’s a beautiful morning. The mist blankets the fields, the screech-birdies are flocked in the trees, we’re together, and the…”


“I so wanna snap you now. In the mouth. Bust that lip up some.”


“Don’t be like that. It’s not my fault.”


“You’re not seriously going to blame whatsisname for this.”


“Paul. His name is Paul, and it’s certainly his fault for not putting a concrete date on the email. ASBK is next week. So I was wondering why he was sending me to pick the bike up this week.”


“I don’t give a fuck what his name is. I give a fuck about you getting me up at six am to drive you to Eastern Creek to pick up some stupid motorcycle, then halfway down the freeway, you discover it’s not this Sunday, it’s next Sunday.”


“It was not halfway down the freeway. It was only a bit down the freeway. And the motorcycle is not stupid. It’s Phil Tainton’s Hayabusa, so it’s an amazing feat of engineering, and it’s not…”


“Stop fucking speaking. Don’t say any more stuff about anything. I will snap you. I swear to God.”


“You’ve never snapped me. Well, not in the face, anyway.”


“I have wanted to so many times. Like now. So very much now. Right in the face. Or the neck.”


“You look lovely today.”


“Fuck off. No, don’t touch me. Take your hand off my leg.”


“I think you should look at all the positives. We’re spending time together. Don’t the hills look beautiful? Look how the mist slowly…”


“Fuck the hills, fuck the mist, and we spend all the time together we need to – we are already at peak-togetherness. You’ve wrecked my morning routine. Why can’t you use a diary, or your computer to mark important dates and get reminders? That way, we don’t get this bullshit.”


“This is why I have you. You know all things, and all the dates, and all the things linked to all the dates that need to be known.”


“I have no idea what arrangements you make with people.”


“Yes, you do. I write them on the calendar on the wall.”


“Don’t you dare call that hieroglyphic scrawl writing! Even you can’t read it. How many times have you yelled at me to explain what you’ve scrawled on the calendar?”


“Oh come on, that’s like only happened once or twice. It’s not easy to write on a calendar.”


“How do I seem to manage it?”


“You’re a gorgeous marvel of nature. I am a simple once-celled creature crippled by time and motorcycles. I cannot approach your level of grace and ability.”


“Which is why we’re driving back home up the freeway this Sunday morning and I’m wanting to snap you so bad it’s making my eyes cross. Take your hand off my leg. I’m not telling you again.”


“But you’re so nice to touch. OUCH!”


“My phone has some nice heft to it, doesn’t it? Both hands on the steering wheel. Eyes on the road. And no, there’s no singing along with the radio, either. I am so not enjoying you right now.”

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Boris Mihailovic

Boris is a writer who has contributed to many magazines and websites over the years, edited a couple of those things as well, and written a few books. But his most important contribution is pissing people off. He feels this is his calling in life and something he takes seriously. He also enjoys whiskey, whisky and the way girls dance on tables. And riding motorcycles. He's pretty keen on that, too.

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