S Sense

Its senior citizen week you know. I dreamt of the future...

To celebrate Senior Worker Day I attended a strip bridge game at the Red Star Centre (an abandoned public school). Im not very good at bridge so I was down to my y-fronts before Gaia Greyfeather finally hit her predicted losing streak and with practised glee ripped off her last remaining vestment a tie-dyed Cottontails full brief twirled it twice around her head, and let it go. It landed on my face. So I had to shout McSherries all round.

And we didnt stop at one. No way. Plenty of replacement livers coming out of the liberation zone. We all got so drunk we threw away our walking frames and did a little breakdancing to Golden Oldies #26: Michael Franti blaring through the school public address system.

I danced on a desk with I dont want to be killed scratched into it.

After a lunch at the abandoned Returned Services Club (no-one returns anymore) of Mongolian deep fried tofu and peppered farmed squid on a bed of seared I-cant-believe-its-not-onions washed down with a 2023 synthetic cabernet sauvignon, it was time for that old favourite from the past, pole dancing.

Gaia once again showed why she was voted Most Likely for the last five years at the nursing home. (Well, not exactly a nursing home a retirement factory. We screw nuclear warheads onto Chinese missiles designed for civilian purposes.)

Gaia reckons a pole is a symbol of all that is best in a man. We men laughed and sang that famous Don Quixote song, I am I, man of dementia... and then stopped because we couldnt remember the rest.

Gaia slid squeakily down the pole, reasonably smoothly for a naked person, a joint hanging from her upside down lips. I love Gaia.

Suddenly, I thought Id sing that famous Don Quixote song...

After a while, all revved up by Gaias sensuousness and her medicinal marijuana, we took to the electric scooters and chucked wheelies on the abandoned petrol stations driveway until the increased carbon dioxide and searing heat fatigued us. I flashed back to when there were private cars and petrol. And coastal towns (above the water line). And young people.

After curfew we watched the television where smiling suited men spoke of war victories, environmental defeats and Rocky 12. I knew the young people blamed us for all this.

But I hoped that we seniors may yet do good. Be useful.

We could protest outside the abandoned parliament house.

What do we want?

A lie down.

When do we want it?

Zzzzzzz.

Or we could just keep stayin alive because our frail and drug-ridden bodies store carbon. We are living carbon sinks. Its the least we can do.


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