Читать книгу War/Peace - Matthew Vandenberg - Страница 17

‘I’ll be jogging down at Cronulla Beach. You’ll run into me. Hopefully,’ I read. Then I hold my small Samsung black up to the camera so that you can read the message yourself. I shrug, switch the radio on, and begin to jog. It’s a cool day and the air tastes salty – almost Smith’s cheese and onion if it’s possible that product placement can enhance descriptive language. Waves lap at limp rocks like tongues and I can feel the chilly breath of Cronulla on my arms – the cool, minty breath of Beverly Hills, not the Sydney one but 90210. No doubt the jogging strip by Cronulla beach is as sexy as any you’ll find in Cali. I can almost taste the salty skin of the girls who pass by.

‘There’s only one girl I’m interested in right now. She tells me she’s got a joint here in Cronulla. Just by the beach, clean, pristine, perfect, like the face behind every set of shades I see as I look about. It’s the perfect place for my new club, a perfect joint where we’ll be smoking the salt from the clean, crisp air on the sunny side of Cronulla.