On Men

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One night at the Chook ‘n’ Snag Cambo ended up in the loo next to Razor.  Cambo hadn’t meant to. He got up without thinking and wandered down the hallway, over the threadbare carpet by the pokies.

‘Hey Cambo,’ said Razor, holding the door to the men’s open. ‘You followin’ me or somethin’?’

Cambo looked up with a start, saw it was Razor.

‘Yeah,’ said Cambo, making a face. ‘I’m followin’ ya.’

They were the only two blokes at the urinal – one of those wide troughs that stink of men and soaking mothballs. Razor unzipped, rolled his shoulders back, stared at the wall. A stream gushed and drilled into the metal sheet. Cambo was sure he could feel blasts of air eddying about down there; the kind that billow at the bottom of big waterfalls. He groaned in great relief, did Razor; shut his eyes and smiled.

‘Now that’s what I’m talkin’ about.’

By this stage Cambo had been eyeing the wall for several seconds, arms akimbo, member out, waiting. He’d drunk four schooners in short order, on an empty stomach to boot. He was dying for a piss and yet … nothing. Had he lost his effing nerve?

Razor knew what was happening. And Cambo knew that Razor knew. The only thing for it was to shut up, stare straight ahead and wait for Razor to finish. The seconds felt like hours.  Cambo’s face crimsoned. Shit!

‘I tell ya what,’ Razor said, shaking out the final drops. ‘That was glorious.’

Cambo turned away a touch, hid himself from view.

‘Sometimes,’ said Razor, ‘it’s the little things in life.’

‘Mmm,’ said Cambo, burning. A trickle? Not a single trickle?

‘Be with ya in a tick, Raze’.

Razor didn’t move an inch, just kept on standing there.

‘Meet ya out front in a tic, mate.’

The smell of Razor’s piss rose, soured the air, made Cambo’s eyes water.

‘Get us a beer, Raze. Golden Ale?’

Razor sucked his teeth, shook his head. ‘Member that time you told Jill Finch I couldn’t, ah, you know?’

‘Huh?’

‘She let it slip to all her friends.  Elle Kay, the biggest mouth in town, Jane Spencer, Curly Wurly.’

‘Curly?’

‘Finch couldn’t believe her eyes the night I finally did-a. She said to me, she said: who knew?  Ha! Who knew? I tell ya mate. That was some rumour.’

Cambo didn’t know whether to zip and run or go on with the farce.

‘It’s gunna be one helluva story though,’ said Razor, making to leave.

Cambo looked over his shoulder.

‘What is?’ he said, to a closing door. ‘Oi Raze, what’s gonna be?’