THE SOUND OF BONGO
Rain was hammering the factory roof and I was soaked by the time I got to the car. The sky was a strange greyish-green, which reminded me of the rusted Chrysler Valiant I had when I was 17. A long time ago now, I thought. Bang on nine hundred bucks it was and my mate Bongo was obsessed with it. We used to drive all over the Gold Coast in that car. Boards on the roof, windows down, cigarettes, pot, girls.
We called him Bongo because he loved to pound away on the bongo drums. Strange cat my mate Bongo, but he had a heart of gold and that’s all that mattered. I missed him. I’d been thinking of
