Amidst the calm cool-change breeze rolling on in, which is rinsing away the days accumulated heat, four rural Australian men sit: a high school drop out, a high school teacher, someone with an arts degree, and one unemployed expert in environmental science (because of all the government programs Abbott axed). At the height of conversation, each person is thrilled to be listening in, even the person talking, because even the person talking is hearing everything for the first time, because the person talking is talking passionately fast, and because he is high on marijuana. His imagination draws up what he’s saying only after it’s been said. His next sentences trip over the resulting laughter, so that they are absurd and unheard. Miraculously, the men sometimes stumble upon lucidity:
“Well, it’s like what I was thinking about when getting a ride home in a taxi after doing those ‘shrooms. We are living extravagant lives because of the hard work of others. How many people do this? sit around, smoke weed, and enjoy the luxury of wondering just how spoilt we are? That taxi driver, for example. In India being a taxi driver is one of the lowest jobs in the social hierarchy. Taxi drivers have to drive business men and hookers around the backs of buildings so that they can fuck. They can’t look. Just have to hear it all back behind on the seat that they’ll be cleaning up afterwards.”
“Yeah wow. That’s crazy”, said the high school teacher to the high school drop out, “So a taxi driver from India in Adelaide, he has worked his way up through Indian society so that he can leave. He comes to Australia after all that work, but has to start at the bottom again. Being a taxi driver in Adelaide, where spoilt materialistic brats get drunk and throw racism at you.”
Later on, the young country men get up. They are on the farm, though, so no taxi. Still stoned, they each drive the forty minutes home.
“Isn’t this dangerous?”
“Oh, na. I mean, you don’t even remember it.”