>>841473
spent all night wired like an electric cat, weighing out the 8-balls, packing them in mylar baggies and sealing them up with mums iron. They went into holiday 20's packs, heat shrinked with mums hair dryer. Packs into cartons, eighteen in all. Cigs in 2 woolies green shopping bags, with a note to mum written over a old powerball ticket that one is for her and one is for aunt Sharon who smokes menthols but would probably just suck it up if she got 400 loose darts. Pockets of my shirt have enough for the trip and I'm out of there at daybreak, driving against the stream of tradies and squares going in to the city. Roads open right now, no boomer caravans. They're heavy and slow towing the kitchen sink but I'm light, like a lazer with a suitcase full of holiday cartons on the back seat of the rav-4. I'm not on holiday tho, I'm not retired like this camper I'm stuck behind on the ascent thru the hills. I'm a business man and my customers depend on me. I flick another lit butt out the window and the weather shield makes the ash swirl around in my fukn face. I'd shut the window if it worked, just to get a bit more slip stream as i floor it out in fromt on a wide corner. The four cylinder needs some attention, ah it wont let me down and I'll get my first drop off to look at it in his garage in Snowtown. Skys blue, soil's turning red but yellow-white is the color of this trip.