I hardly leave Mini’s room in the days after we rescue him from the airport. He got Mumsie to pay for a flight home 12 hours after those Southern Cross cocksuckers stomped him. The shuddering and whining of the plane on the way back across the Tasman rattled his injuries somethin’ wicked. Kid was crying when he got off the plane. Shoulda been in intensive care, just about. Then again, it always hurts to come back to Crimechurch. I swear this city’s got a bungee cord that snaps people back. Mini held his battered body together with a hoodie, drawstrings tightened, and only just made it down the plane stairs and into Mumsie’s arms and back to bed. I jumped on a Qantas myself and chased the sun against the turn of the earth and now I’m here too, dabbing his ripped purple ears with a wet cloth
