Harvey, a man whose blood alcohol content could probably power a small outboard motor, was nursing a beer the size of a small child’s paddling pool in a Darwin pub. The humidity hung thick, like a damp towel draped over the entire city. He was contemplating the existential dread of another crocodile-infested puddle on his walk home when his mate, Bruce, swaggered in.
Bruce, a man whose fashion sense suggested he raided a charity shop after a cyclone, slapped Harvey on the back hard enough to dislodge a few questionable snacks from his beard. “Harv, me old mate! Fancy seeing you here!”
They fell into conversation, a rambling discourse involving escaped emus, questionable fishing techniques, and a surprisingly detailed account of Bruce’s attempts to teach his pet cockatoo to swear in multiple languages. (The cockatoo, it turned out, had a penchant for interpretive dance rather than linguistics).
The hours melted away like ice cream in the Darwin heat. At precisely 10:00 PM, Harvey consulted his watch – a battered thing that looked like it had survived a wrestling match with a saltwater crocodile – and sighed dramatically.
“Bruce, me old china,” he declared, his voice thick with the combined effects of beer and impending marital doom. “It’s been a right corker, but I better be off. The wife… she doesn’t like me to stay out late drinking.”
Bruce raised an eyebrow, a feat made all the more impressive by the fact that one was significantly higher than the other. “Doesn’t like it? Harv, you’ve been married to Sheila for twenty years. She’s got a picture of you in your underwear framed above the fireplace. She *actively encourages* late-night drinking! Last Tuesday, she sent a drone with a six-pack to the golf course!”
Harvey blinked, a flicker of confusion momentarily interrupting his carefully constructed narrative of marital fragility. “She… she did?”
Bruce nodded gravely. “Yep. Said it was ‘to fuel the legend.'”
Harvey stared into his beer, contemplating this newly revealed aspect of his marriage. Then, a slow grin spread across his face. “Right then,” he said, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Another round!”
