“You like autumn?”
“Is this autumn? Isn’t it a bit hot?”
“You’re wearing a massive jumper.”
“This is not a massive jumper. It’s a cardigan.”
“Looks like a fucking big jumper-slash-jacket to me.”
The bus stop was fairly depressing that Tuesday, it was quite warm. Perhaps 25. 25 might not be very hot for some, but those people are most likely from some equatorial country with coconuts and drums and big tourism industries. Sven was also wearing a fairly large jumper.
“Why do you wear such a big jumper all the time?”
“It’s not a fucking big jumper, okay?”
“Whatever. You’re always wearing a jumper, you look like a fool.”
“Do I re-”
“It’s big and it’s green and it’s awful, okay.”
“This is a bit out of the blue, Red.”
It was also threatening to rain. It was one of those weird Tuesdays where it was warm but wet and it caused people to talk inanely at length about the weather. The clouds were depressed and heavily grey, like a big doona someone had pissed on, dripping awful warm wet rain all over the place in big hamburgery drops, making everything smell weird.
“Where is the bus,” Sven began to sing.
“Maybe it’s had an accident.”
“Maybe, you had an accident.”
“What?” Red put down her phone.
Sven pointed to the puddle of rain at Red’s feet. Red went back to her phone.
“Do you want to like, not sit in the rain there?”
“It’s not raining that much.”
It stopped and started raining, and a cool wind licked every now and then at Sven’s unsocked ankles.
“I think Mr Crouch was driving the bus, and he forgot his ADD meds, and Jason was there, and he was like ‘Oh Gerry, Gerry Gerry Crouch, why don’t you come back to my houuuuch-’ and then he lost it, and went all like ‘Youuu fucking kidsss I’ll fucking kill youu alll’ and this time he did it, and killed everyone.”
“You’re a sped, Sven.”
“The bus will never come!”
“The bus is here, stoogebag, are you coming back to mine?”
“Yeah, I gotta have dinner at mine though.”
“Psht you have your pissy dinner where you like.”
“I hate waiting for your bus.”
“I hate you, noob.”