‘…and they killed all the poor monkeys, and the chimps, and they ate roadkill hedgehogs, and they worshipped him like a freaking cult, and he stole medals off this, like, Napoleon display thing, and, and, like, there was like a whole statue-shrine to Adam Turing and things were like SOOOOOOO schizo in there, Mumshine, you wouldn’t believe it. Mumshine?’
‘I believe you, darling. I believe you.’
We’re in Kmart on a nice three-piece corner lounge suite. The girl Ötzi told me about, Rachel, is marking school kids’ assignments a few metres away. Ötzi’s told me it’s not exactly his lounge suite, since people in his world share everything, but he sprawls on it as often as he can, “to mark my territory.” Like a dog, he says, chortling. Chirpy and incorrigible no matter how pissed I get with him.
