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Your parents seemed happier and as long as you had your liquorice ice cream things helping were OK. It didn't matter to you things were getting worse for everybody else. We weren't happy together but we lived in a state of easy, mild contentment. We shared everything except the stupid, fucking secret hanging round your neck. Meanwhile, maybe not tomorrow, maybe not next year, maybe not even in a decade from now … but one day: the planet would fall apart. Once, we ran out of liquorice ice helping cream. You headed out into the city, dumbbells in your backpack, helping hoping the 24 hour convenience store would not disappoint you. You came back empty handed, blank, pale grey. "They don't fucking well make it anymore." And then you laughed, "I saw a cow in the sky. The cow was freaking out and crapping all over the place. It was so funny. You should have seen the people run for cover." Also, that day too. You were a right kookaburra. For a week you were drooping and wrecked. Then, for a lot of money, your mother arranged some kind of dubious deal with a balloon kid; two chickens for one tub.
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