When we had a spare moment, and money for petrol, we hit the road. When there’s no air conditioning or fans at home, driving with the windows down is the best way to breathe free, I reckon. Palm out in the air, surfing up and down and coming perilously close to road signs, and the occasional cyclist, helmet dangling and bucking against the handle bars.
“Safety is sexy!” Kelly yells as we pass one by, before bursting into giggles as we round the next bend. Here, it’s bush country, and we’re the only thing moving, us and the gravel in our wake. The forest is silent, still and ancient all around, only the road to show that humans have been here, only fresh roadkill to show that it’s been any time recently.
“That’s five,” Jack says from the back.
“Five what?” I ask.
“Five possums slash rabbits slash insert name of mammalian pestilence here.”
“Five since where, though?”
“Since I started counting, five minutes ago. One per minute, baby.”
“Ew, can you not?” Lauren is behind the wheel, and as such, her word is law. Still, in the rear view mirror, I can see him mouthing numbers as we pass by stretched out mounds of bloodied fur.
We drive on.
