anton

I met up with Matt for a drink during his lunchbreak. He was wearing a well-cut suit and a cheap blue tie. His hair had too much gel in it. At one point during drinks, he leant forward to tell me about the stresses he was having at work, and he ran a hand through his hair. His hair didnt move at all. I didnt like that. I didnt like that at all.

How are things with Sam? he asked in between sipping his beer and inhaling on his designer cigarette.

Samantha, yeah. Good. Things are good, I suppose, I said. I brought my beer to my lips, but didnt drink it. Shes going to move later this year. To London maybe. Maybe back to her familys place.

Her family lives in London? Is she English? Matt once told me he hated the English more than bloody wogs. He didnt say why.

No, her family lives in Lismore, I think. They might be English though. Ive never met them. She asked me to go on a trip with her to see them, but I had things to do down here. I finished my beer, and leant back into the couch. I looked around the pub, all ugly pine and alien metal. I didnt really want to go anyway.

Matt exhaled smoke and leant forward to put his cigarette out. I bet she has a really fuckable mum. He looked up at me, smiling gleefully, expecting me to laugh. I did.

What?

You can just tell by looking at her. Shes one of those girls who has a really fuckable mum. Its worth going to dinner with them just to meet their fuckable mums.

Shes one of those girls? Which girls?

The ones who have fuckable mums, you fuck. Matt laughed again, and finished his beer, placing his schooner glass precariously on the edge of the table. You want another one, mate? he asked rhetorically. Dude, youre going to knock that glass over, I said, knowing he would.

He pushed himself up off the couch, knocking his glass over. I told you, I said, with unjustifiable smugness. While he was at the bar I thought about smoking one of his cigarettes. I didnt. I watched as Matt ordered, awkwardly flirting with a nearby girl as the bartender poured our beers. She was wearing a low-cut top, and whenever she looked away, Matt would steal a glance at her cleavage.

Youre a classy guy Matt, I told him as he put the beers down. He raised his eyebrow. You just checked that girls breasts out at least one hundred times, I said, picking up his packet of cigarettes.

Are you going to smoke one of my cigarettes? he asked, smiling his weird, toothy smile. He tried to get his hand through his hair again. He glanced over to the woman with the low-cut top. Twice. Maybe three times.

Yep, I said, lighting one of his cigarettes.

Later on, I walked him to his work. I had nothing else to do. If youre so stressed out, I told him, why dont you just quit?

Mate, do you know how much money I make? he asked, again rhetorically. One hundred grand a year. He smiled and put his hand on my shoulder. Thats a lot of cash mate.

It sure is. You dont even do anything, I said. Matt looked for some indication I was joking, but I wasnt. Who the fuck is paying you that much money for doing nothing?

I do a lot mate, he said, taking his hand off my shoulder and crossing his arms. Its not all tits and beer.

It seems to be mainly tits and beer, I said. Theres nothing wrong with tits and beer. If your life involves nothing but tits and beer, and you get paid that much money, you should be happy.

I wish it was tits and beer mate. I wish it was, he said, looking off into the distance and squinting. Maybe Matts trying to look wistful, I thought, and hes almost there. Anyway you fucker, Ive got to get to work. We said goodbye and shook hands. He patted me on the back, and I didnt really like that much.