The first time I wished upon a falling star, wasn't all that long ago ya know. Swimming in a pool, living nice in a motel, out there in the middle of the bad lands, laying on my back floating through a million thoughts and smiles, frowns and mistakes. Then without warning, a tiny little streak of light across the brilliant night time sky and a pretty girl told me to wish for something. It caught me by surprise, I only asked for things to be good, for adventures to deliver me safely.
With a smoothness wrought by the river of my life, I whirled around and found myself falling towards a light, away from a life I knew so well. Times they seem a little tough, but with practise, selling alcohol grows easier, these people around me, each are individual, it's almost like they've practised all the lines, especially for me, to record our own blockbuster, but not with film.
Many of us have said, many fucking times, but oh-so-true, the times they are a-changing.
A love story I suppose, but I doubt it'll go as scripted. But one friday night she walks in, dressed for the weekend party of life, life at twenty one is a merry old merry-go-round and around and she's standing in the doorway of my work, eyes roving for a helpful soul to guide her to the right concoction to lubricate social celebration. And I smile, goofy like, and she looks away and grins. I offer her a bag, and she offers her phone number. I clutch the little shred of paper and workmates light heartedly take the mickey.
The next night, a saturday, a more refined, more relaxed version of it's predecessor. She's dressed to match, with a famous feminine black dress and heels to match. The make up round her eyes stops me from looking away. A smile of recognition when I greet her with an awkward country sounding 'G'day'. We browse the fine selection of wine, lingering longer than we should. She asks when I'm going to call her. "Straight after work!" I reply, regretting my eagerness immediatly. She laughs softly, sweetly, tells me she looks forward to it. Tells me she'll pick me up and she me off to all her pretentious fake-friends. Yeah, it sounds okay to me...
At a party she invited me to, held in her modest back garden, I sit and look at the clearest constellation in the dark night sky. No shooting stars to be seen in these parts, the city lights hide all but the brightest of nighttime dots of sky globes. It doesn't bother me none though, things are good, a long way from the isolation of the western badlands, far from a life lived on a highway where nothing much ever happened. Things are good I guess.
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