Badder Than Bubby

Kangaroos graze under the street lights, My baby’s in bed, sleeping tight.

A football match on the TV, I can hear it from the balcony.

A crescent moon, with a cloud cutting it in two, hangs in the night sky.

The sounds of crashing dishes from the neighbours house. I think they have guests tonight.

A few doors down the street, Jack the dog gets off his leash but his owners don’t seem to care. I think they’re drunk. Here I sit in the darkness, halfway through writing a short story for a friend of mine. It’s pretty dark but it’s funny too. I like writing about common people. And this main character, he’s a pretty bad boy.

Badder than Bubby.

I start thinking about a Director friend of mine, who died too early. Goddamn it.

GREG T ROSS