. . . . the year 1988, we'd just finished a gig in a tiny and atmospheric joint by the name of "La Cucaracha" in downtown Sufferers Parasite, packed room full of the local, Sunday night crew all havin a good time, I'm happily pissed and totally buzzing, great afterglow thing goin on . . . .
I'd noticed this girl, sitting pretty much by herself, gorgeous, fairish, lightly freckled skin, a Jenny Agutter kinda visual appeal, Englishy 'punky' lookin, in a place full of surf crew and spannerheads, this chick stood out like glowing dog's balls, and, we'd been making eye contact . . . . I plucked up the courage and went over to her.
She was gorgeous, magically, cosmically, perfectly gorgeous, on my word, I fell in love instantly, there was a total 'connection', something that was simply 'there', an attraction that was as honest and real as the shit you read about or see in cool movies . . . . THE most special romantic moment in my entire fucking life, including my ex wife, and all other of my three serious, longer term girlfriends, it was a nanosecond event that went straight to my core being and it was fully reciprocated by her.
We had a few more drinks, talked like we'd known each other forever and then went for a drive to a place called 'The Spit', where the river flows out to the sea through a huge, manmade seawall. We sat, facing each other, and talked, shared a joint, talked some more, got amorous without getting down to it and were fully diggin on each other . . . . it was so very special, never experienced a moment of that divine intensity since, it has stayed with me as though it was last night, "Under the Milky Way" drifted across the radio at one point near sunrise and the whole thing felt better than anything before or since, beyond surreal.
Miss Josie Price, resident of Wales in the U.K, had to catch her flight out of Brisbane that day, I drove her to the airport, we had coffee, held hands, talked some more, expressed what we were feeling and said goodbye . . . . no tears, no trauma, no dumb, bullshit words that could never be made real, just perfect and unbridaled truth, hers and mine . . . . I have frequently wondered about her and what she might be up to in the intervening twenty four years . . . . whatever it is, I hope she is a happy girl.
I'd noticed this girl, sitting pretty much by herself, gorgeous, fairish, lightly freckled skin, a Jenny Agutter kinda visual appeal, Englishy 'punky' lookin, in a place full of surf crew and spannerheads, this chick stood out like glowing dog's balls, and, we'd been making eye contact . . . . I plucked up the courage and went over to her.
She was gorgeous, magically, cosmically, perfectly gorgeous, on my word, I fell in love instantly, there was a total 'connection', something that was simply 'there', an attraction that was as honest and real as the shit you read about or see in cool movies . . . . THE most special romantic moment in my entire fucking life, including my ex wife, and all other of my three serious, longer term girlfriends, it was a nanosecond event that went straight to my core being and it was fully reciprocated by her.
We had a few more drinks, talked like we'd known each other forever and then went for a drive to a place called 'The Spit', where the river flows out to the sea through a huge, manmade seawall. We sat, facing each other, and talked, shared a joint, talked some more, got amorous without getting down to it and were fully diggin on each other . . . . it was so very special, never experienced a moment of that divine intensity since, it has stayed with me as though it was last night, "Under the Milky Way" drifted across the radio at one point near sunrise and the whole thing felt better than anything before or since, beyond surreal.
Miss Josie Price, resident of Wales in the U.K, had to catch her flight out of Brisbane that day, I drove her to the airport, we had coffee, held hands, talked some more, expressed what we were feeling and said goodbye . . . . no tears, no trauma, no dumb, bullshit words that could never be made real, just perfect and unbridaled truth, hers and mine . . . . I have frequently wondered about her and what she might be up to in the intervening twenty four years . . . . whatever it is, I hope she is a happy girl.
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