Barbs

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It’s midnight.  She had the slingshot ready.  A mottled pebble nestled in the rubber cup.  Together we crept up the hill towards the fence, shielded by low hedges flanking the wire.  On the other side, just a few yards away, we saw the long window and the heads of the drivers smoking, drinking tea and eating sandwiches.  You found the small hole in the fence, pushed the ‘V’ of the sling against it and fired.  The pebble hit the windowframe like a shotgun blast, the security lamps flooding the area in white static.  As the drivers sat up in alarm, we stood illuminated with our jeans down, waving our silly parts in their faces before scrambling back down the hill.

Knee deep in brambles and abandoned trampolines, we crawled along unmade paths to the hidden places.  We’d been arguing about the Moon, because she didn’t believe the Moon had a dark side that you couldn’t see.  I don’t believe in things I can’t see.  I’m only interested in what I can see.  I’m no scientist, and she is no rationalist, so my words only served to annoy her more than the rusted frames and thorns we stepped over.

We eventually reached the row of pines, the air heavy with sap.  Over another fence we could see the trolleys being unloaded, human lumps under white sheets and silver lights, pushed into a low, evil looking building.  One guy in white was laughing.  I felt her remove the slingshot from her pocket.

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