My full name is Brian Nine (a). Everyone has a letter after their name but only those who are still (a)’s really ever bring it up it. Some older people if they are an (a) or a (b) mention it as that is well rare nowadays. Rare as teenage (w). I don’t mention it much.
I live with Brian’s One to Eight and Brian’s Ten and Eleven in our well massive flat. I am the only (a) but I don’t mention it much. It only means I have not died. I am still an original Brian Nine. At twenty that is not that unusual but unusual enough to feel slightly well smug. Most of the other Brian’s are (c)’s or (d)’s except Brian Seven who is an (f). People used to die of Oblomovism, but that nowadays is as rare as a thirty year old (b).
I remember Brian Three (b) saying one day we should have a race just to the garage instead of all the way over to the hospital, as the winner is always the one who starts off first. He was looking all thinky and I wasn’t so Ludlam’s dog that day so I said okay and, starting at the same time, side by side facing the door, we raced to the garage on our running legs. Starting when Brian Seven yelled ‘go’ well loud in our ears, his gob all contorted. We ran down to the garage side by side and sat on our rad scooters at the same moment. He was a bit moody after that; he normally won if we raced properly on the streets as he always got the garage first, because he was always closer to the door. We are well similar.
He got his notice and Brian Three (b) became Brian Three (c). Of course I was still an (a).
They worked on my legs again in the hospital the lasers caning the fresh cancers and building new itches while I watched Pa Tortelli build a new well ickle shed and moan on and on and on about missing work. Then he knocked down Johnny ‘Eggplant’ O’Bergine’s fence, all spiteful, and went and got well pissed in front of the footy on his screen, all Jimmy Woodser.
After, full of new itches well burning, I walked around the hospital graveyard and the yard manager, Stevie One, helped me to find a nice place to bury myself. We settled on a spot much like any other; it was available. ‘Yeah, alright.’ I said, as we moseyed back inside.
I watched the Tortelli’s in the evening. Tortelli Jr. was suspended for pinching off in the back seat of a teacher’s car. Well foul ickle bastard.
I stayed in the flat for most of the rest of the day, well ten o’clock scholar like most of my brothers, watching the screen and missing the Wendies a bit. Either that or racing around all reckless on our scooters or doing some footy or going to some café for some Seigfreid Max. Well huge cafés floors and floors up with misty views out under the dome where we can get all caned and higher our buzzes. Good cafes though, always choice, we don’t want to get lumbered with some poxy Nixon Shake that barely touches you in your deep insides.
But today is was mostly screen time laid about all ten o clock scholar and Ludlam’s dog without even a little look see in the pages of Brenda’s.
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