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To Sharon and Hannah. Thank you for your enthusiasm about this book, for your encouragement and for sharing the music.
‘My’ story certainly wasn’t writing itself and the couple of attempts I’d made had failed due to my ‘poverty of time’.
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As the end of school loomed, Kim had found some kind of social foothold, falling in with a group of older kids. Relative sophisticates, they were Kim’s ticket into parties where he was able to encounter some of the hedonism he’d been reading about. A friend who worked at a record shop told Kim about a party, promising hash and live music. Kim went along to jam with his harmonica, smoked pot and killed it on the harp. His first performance was a success.
In the end, he got through high school and scraped in with his leaving certificate. The day before his art exam, Kim and a friend stumbled across a bottle of vodka and a case of Fosters and got smashed. After throwing up all over his parent’s front yard, Kim fronted for his final exam in dusty shape, but made it through. Walking home, he paused at one of the L shaped streets that led to nowhere. He didn’t know exactly what was next, but he wouldn’t find it there.
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