On the flight home on the weekend I settled in to read my book, Nick
Cave's The Death Of Bunny Munro. There was a little kid across the
aisle, a squirmer and a squealer. Awesome. At one point he literally
spat his dummy across the aisle and it landed in my open book. The kid
fell silent and looked impressed and shocked and a little bit
frightened. His mother looked horrified and apologised like she thought I
was going to get violent. I was just amused. Ain't never had a kid spit
its dummy from a distance into the pages of a twisted novel I was
reading.
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