The pumpkin’s in half. We continue with one of them, and the other half is squashed against the wall under the money machine.

Rube gets belted.

I get belted.

Everyone does, and all around us, there’s the stench of sweat, raw pumpkin and beer.

‘You blokes stink,’ Rube tells Cheese.

‘Why thank you,’ Cheese responds.

We keep going, until the pumpkin’s the size of a golf ball. That’s when the cops show up.

They walk up, a man and a woman, smiling.

‘Boys,’ the bloke cop opens with. ‘How’s it going?’

‘Tosser Gary!’ Rube calls out. ‘What are you doin’ here?’

Yes, you’ve guessed right. The cops are our mates from the dog track. Gary, the corrupt, bet-placing male cop, and Cassy, the brilliant brunette gorgeous cop.

‘Ahh, you!’ the cop laughs. ‘Been down the track lately?’

‘Nah,’ Rube answers. ‘Been a bit busy.’

Cassy nudges Gary.

He pauses.

Remembers.

His job.

‘Now fellas,’ he begins, and we all know what he’ll say. ‘You know this kind of thing isn’t on. There’s pumpkin all over the place and when the sun hits it, it’s gonna stink like my old man’s work boots.’

Silence.

Then a few yeahs.

Yeah this, yeah that, and a yeah you’re right I s’pose.

But no one understands, not really.

No one cares.

I’m wrong.

I’m wrong because I find myself stepping forward, saying, ‘Okay Gary, I know what y’ mean,’ and start picking up pieces of pumpkin. Silently, Rube follows. The others, drunk, only watch. Cheese helps a bit, but none of the others do anything. They’re too shocked. Too drunk. Too out of breath. Too stoned.

‘Thanks a lot,’ Gary and Cassy say when we’re done and our drunken friends are on their way.

‘I think I’d love to beat the hell out of some of those fellas,’ Rube mentions. His words are offhand, but fierce. Like he’d do it if the cops would turn their backs for a minute.

Gary looks at him.

A few times.

He notices.

He says it.

‘You’ve changed mate. What’s happened?’

All Rube says is, ‘I don’t know.’

Neither do I.

It’s a conversation with myself, at Central Station. It goes on inside my head as Rube and Gary talk a little further.

It goes like this:

‘Hey Cameron?’

‘What?’

‘Why does he scare you all of a sudden?’

‘He’s fierce now, and even when he smiles and laughs, he stops it real fast and concentrates again.’

‘Maybe he just wants to be somebody.’

‘Maybe he wants to kill somebody.’

‘Now you’re bein’ stupid.’

‘All right.’

‘Maybe he’s just sick of losin’ and never wants to feel it again.’

‘Or maybe he’s the one that’s afraid.’

‘Maybe.’

‘But afraid of what?’

‘I don’t know. What can a winner be afraid of?’

‘Losing?’