The Brazilian Dancer (a work of fiction)

March 13, 2008 at 8:52 pm | Posted in writing | 11 Comments
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The first two times I got arrested I told ya about already, he said, looking around the club, well one time I didn’t get arrested and let me just say this, if ya gotta kid at home and he’s easily bored don’t give him too much sugar. I went to see Ian Dury and The Blockheads live at Cloudland. It was a gorgeous Heritage Listed artdeco dance hall on the top of a hill overlooking the Valley. Built in the 20’s, it had a sprung ballroom floor and when eight hundred people all pogoed with the inevitable rhythm of Sex And Drugs And Rock and Roll a wave built up and flew through the floor and bumped under your feet even if you didn’t wanna dance.

Later the Dean Brothers who wanted the real estate pulled it down in the dead of night. They were cronies of the corrupt Premier Sir Joh Bjelke-Petersen whose Minister of Police Terry Lewis was being paid by my employers who are all dead now. I stopped getting arrested after I started working for Fat Hector and fell into complete dissolute disarray. What time is it? he asked looking around the bar, whose turn is it today to offer a little hospitality to the wandering (hic), tell me Antigone, do you know how to samba, i asked her,

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