And De Fun Don't Done Read Online Free PDF

rest of his neighbours.
    By now Norton was staring ahead into the steamy Florida night, hardly believing what he was hearing, and trying to switch off. But he couldn’t. Hank might have been a goose at his place; now, he was the most miserable,whingeing prick Les had ever come across. And he’d travelled halfway across the world to meet up with the moron. Not only that, it wasn’t as if he could say, Well it’s been nice talking to you, Hank, drop me off at the next corner and I’ll catch a cab home. He was stuck with the pain in the arse. Norton shook his head in disbelief. And what was I saying earlier? Somebody up there still likes me? Hah! What a joke. No, I can’t really blame him, I suppose. Fuckin’ Warren. That’s whose fault it is. The little cunt. Why didn’t he tell me to read more of this prick’s letters?
    Hank flicked another cigarette out the window and eased up slightly on his tirade about the same time he turned right off the freeway. Norton thought he saw a sign saying Siestasota County. It seemed like another freeway, only there were now houses and other buildings on either side of the divided highway, or whatever it was. It reminded Les a little of Parramatta Road, but about four times as wide and completely flat. They pulled up at a set of lights and for some reason Les unconsciously went to put his foot on the brake and change gears. It seemed funny when there was nothing in front of him.
    â€˜Well, Hank,’ said Les, not meaning to sound laconic, ‘it looks like you’ve been having a bit of a bad trot, mate.’
    Hank looked at Les for a second, then his eyes seemed to dart all over the place. ‘A bad trot? Goddamn!’
    â€˜Well, you know what I mean.’ Despite himself, Les suddenly found it hard to keep a straight face.
    They ground on through the night; Hank lit another cigarette while Norton tried to figure out this absolute prick of a situation he’d unexpectedly found himself in. It was a bit of a worry. ‘Anyway, Hank,’ he said, giving the American a friendly slap on the shoulder, ‘how about letting me buy you a beer? Is there a pub or something near your place?’
    Hank looked at his watch. ‘It’s almost one-thirty. Everything closes at two.’
    â€˜Oh!’ Norton’s heart sank down around his ankles.
    â€˜There’s booze back at my place.’
    â€˜Yeah. It’s just that I’d love to shout you a drink for picking me up at the airport. That’s a bloody long drive in this heat. It was more than good of you. And it is my first time ever in America. I’d like to celebrate a bit. Plus catching up with you again, too.’ A drink back at your place’d be great, thought Norton. Especially the conversation. But if I don’t have a drink right now and get out of this bloody car and have a mag to someone, even if it’s only the local mule, I’ll end up necking myself. ‘Come on, Hank. We’ve got nearly half an hour. My shout. Just for old time’s sake.’
    Hank took a huge drag on his cigarette then let it out slowly. ‘There’s a bar on Main Street. It’s on the way to my place, I suppose.’
    â€˜Beauty!’ Les gave the American another friendly pat on the shoulder, then eased back in his seat and breathed a quiet sigh of relief.
    Hank followed the road they were on, then turned right into one not quite as wide, which was flanked by low-rise office buildings, restaurants and shops with cars angle- parked in front. Near what looked like a book shop he backed his pick-up in against the footpath or sidewalk or whatever they call it. By angling his head around, Les could see a bar with ‘Toby’s’ painted across a window next to a double glass door. Hank got out and slammed the door; Les just had time to stash his bags on the front floor, along with his jacket, and catch up with Hank as he went straight