James hated nail polish. The smell was like an invisible fist that divided in two, reached in through his nostrils, and simultaneously punched him in both hemispheres of the brain. Given the choice, he would rather sniff textas or wasabi, he often thought, at least wasabi had tang, but not nail polish. Never nail polish.
[A young TEENAGE BOY is standing underneath a hills-hoist Australian clothes line nervously about to undo a pair of knickers from the line. A middle-aged man appears from on the balcony of the household.] MAN: Oy! What are you doin’!? [The teenager freezes, like a deer caught in the headlights.] TEENAGE BOY: Nothing. Um… I’m
Leopard-Skin Pill-Box Hat