Tag: shit heap

Burgies

This story is about important drunken Hindley St McDonalds pitstops. It was published in Shit Heap Vol.3.

xxx Dolling

 

Me Burgie

 

It’s a sticky summer night at the Hindley st McDonalds. We are extra sticky having just taken a quick dip in the fountain outside the High Court on our meandering journey to get here. We feel classy for it, so classy in fact we deem it acceptable to enter McDonalds without our pants. We envision ourselves to be pulling off some kind of shocking but sexy Vivienne westwood punk aesthetic as we photograph ourselves posing at the counter. A few hours later we will sober up and lie in our beds sniggling because we weren’t even Courtney (Love).

The burgers taste so good we don’t even bother to lament how disgusting we are for coming here. Chris puts his fries in his burger. I inform him that ‘I just can’t get behind carbs sandwiched in carbs’

As we ponder double carbs our attention is drawn to the speed fuelled croaking and squawking of the sun damaged couple at the next table. The woman has tiny blond braids all over her head with gaudy, coloured beads attached to the ends. I silently call her a cocktail orange. I’ve never seen one but my dad once likened a fat little girl in Bali to one which had delighted me.

Our interest is instantly clocked,

 

‘Good burgies aye?’

 

Her voice gurgles like a wet ashtray and as soon as we look into her raisin eyes and politely second the notion, we are trapped. She minces her burgie in her thick hand and grins at us. Her counterpart has leant himself into the wall with a McChicken in each hand and a smile that sucks his features into the middle of his face.

We revert to our most polite selves, agreeing that the cops in Adelaide are so fucked. For real we all gotta get back to Victoria so we can be free! Paedophiles are truly fucked units, yep, yep, nah, yeah, nah they are fucked. They’re the worst actually.

A chunk of burgie goes flying as the cocktail orange gesticulates her disgust at pedos.

 

‘Aw shit! Me burgie!’

 

The retrieved chunk is the first morsel I have noticed her attempt to ingest. We learn that it’s fine to eat Hindley Maccas floor food because old mate Burgie ate prison floor eccies one time. Intrigued and out of our depth, we tap into our inner social workers and ask about the psychological impact of her incarceration experience. Her family has been torn apart by drugs, abuse and recidivism. McChicken comes to life as we offer sympathetic observations about cycles of disadvantage. Burgie hasn’t seen her husband in years cos he’s in Yatala, fucking Adelaide cops. Chris is brave enough to ask what he’s in for and Burgie’s gurgled response is matter of fact.

 

‘Snowtown murders.’

 

We shriek in disbelief all the way back to the fountain and I tell Chris about cocktail oranges because he has never seen one before.