Islands of Time by Publications Cemetery Dance & Dann Jack

Author:Publications, Cemetery Dance & Dann, Jack
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Cemetery Dance Publications
Published: 2023-11-04T00:00:00+00:00

Trainspotting in Winesburg

We was watching the trains as we always do, even though it was so hot that our armpits smelled like dogshit; but it never mattered whether it was cold or hot or in-between, since we didnt have no school never more, we always came here. Its our favorite place, even though you cant actually get down the gradient and into the trainstay, no, you got to keep well enough away from the blueprick station guards and the Race and Settlement Corps soldiers who they must grow in a special tank cause theys so friggin big, bigger than a pancake as my mother used to say, God bless her perfect soul and all that shit.

So, anyway, just as I was telling you, we always come here; and we come here because its the only place where you can really see the trains cause they got them high cement and wire bunkers everywhere else all along the tracks. And the reason we get away with it and dont get shot or electrocuted or sumpthin is cause we know a secret place like a tunnel that goes right under the wires and comes up behind a treecopse on the west side of the trainstays embankment. It haint perfect for trainspotting, but at least we can see what goes by; in fact, we can see pretty good with the Zeiss binocs that we stole from B. J. Kleins Megashit store in Leongatha, which, in case your a dumb-ass and dont know geography, is in South Gippsland, which is in the Federal Protectorate of Australia. And just for the record—as you can plain see this whole thing is a record—my name is Jamie Peretz and Im a writer, and dont let my age put you back cause I might not know all the nasty bits of the Koran or the Ethics of the Fathers Jewbook, but I know shit. A slice with a working battery is all you kneed if you kneed to quote sumpthin from the good old King James Bible to keep the district officers happy. They all think its incumbent upon them (see, I told you I was a writer) to take me to every fucking Friday prayermeet. Just because I dont got a mum no more, and your probly wondering where the hell my father is: well, when you find out, you can let me know. He ran away after Mum—

I dont want to think about any of that right now.

Right now Im living with my Aunt Kate, who gets sumpthin called a stipend from the district for keeping me, even though shes not really my aunt and even though she couldnt give a rats ass whether Im here, there, or anywhere, except (however) when she wants what she calls a baby shag. Shes fat, old, dirty, and probly thirty or sumpthin, but I just close my eyes and pretend shes Kathy Robunson.

Sorry. Okay, back to what this memorandum (which is sort of like a diary, you can look

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