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“Mate, can you put those legs into thrid gear? We’re going to be late otherwise,” he said.
“Honestly, there’s as much life in you as The Queen Mother right now. Chop chop!”
At least, that’s what Michael Bradley wanted to say to his mate Steve while he abled at the back of the group.
The gaggle of guys dawdled their way down the hill to the French Quarter after seeing their football team be thrashed at the hands of the Windorah Spacemen – something that’s become a weekly occurrence.
However, says Mike, it doesn’t excuse some of his friendship circle subscribing to the slow walking life.
He ran into our reporter at the intersection of Jones Avenue and Rue Du Putain in Betoota Hills while he waited for the rest of his mates to catch up.
“Honestly, it does my tiny head it, it does,” said Mike.
“How can people walk so slowly? We all have places to be and rocks to throw. It’s a nice winter day, hovering around 20 but come on. They’ll be the death of me. Steve especially. If he was going and slower, he’d be fucking near going backwards, I tell you.”
Our reporter left Mike just as his friends caught up to him at the lights.
He watched them take off down the hill, Mike out in the front talking back over his shoulder at them. More than once, he turned to walk backwards as he spoke to them, in an obvious, pure frustration that only he and our reporter would ever know about.
More to come.