A Bit of Drama at the Servo

Footscray is rough sometimes

I was only there for a packet of Cheezels and thirty Marlboro. But sometimes, as my teacher Akani used to say, your karma bites you in the fucking ass.

“Get out of the way motherfucker,” says this goddamn bitch with a twelve o’clock shadow.

She twats me with the butt of this fucking lamp she is carrying. It’s one of those leadlight things with some blue turtle on it. That’s not right. I mean, turtles aren’t fucking blue. Then again, women aren’t supposed to be six foot three with a face full of fur either.

“Yes, petrol on number seven,” she says like Queen Elizabeth.

I gaze out at bowser seven, and there’s a fucking Hyundai Getz. If it were a Bentley or a Rolls, I might have forgiven this fucker’s arrogance, but you don’t go around driving a goddamn Hyundai Getz, carrying a blue turtle fraud lamp and acting like a —

“It’s nineteen-fifty,” the spotty little fuck behind the counter says.

That’s the last straw.

I pull out this Smith and Wesson CSX pistol that I honestly only kept on myself for a rainy day, and I stick it straight into this prick’s prick.