Edo trekked through the park, wondering if he would meet dear Rhadamanthus on his way.
By night, Rhadaman was a judge of the dead, but by day he dwelled quietly in the Elysian Fields, St Kilda.
A veteran of something, Rhadaman’s face was heavily creased, as if he had washed with dry cement most of his life.
Lines folded over his cheeks and the bridge of his nose; some days you couldn’t see his eyes. This left his mouth to hang wide like a dingo, his comments could be just as sharp.
Edo passed the twisted groves that lined the shore. Rhadaman might be there. Sure enough, his long cumbersome limbs could be spotted in the distance. He was so tall he could pass for a medieval knight.
When they had been younger, they had been determined to seek out another place. They’d had been close but a strong hand always managed to drag them home before dark.
Up ahead, Edo spotted a deck of Winny blues resting on the ground next to Rhadaman’s ankles, Extra ‘eclipse’ gum hung out of his back pocket and a bottle of Gold Passion was plonked nearby.
Three figures were bowed before him, their heads low to the ground. Rhadaman presided, speaking quietly.
A dark purple hung in the air. It was in the water, engine oil puddles by the car park, pale gum tree trunks and in the broken capillaries of Rhadamanthus' cheekbones.
Edo stood back, curious but wishing to remain unseen for the moment. Like all creatures, he hungered for blood and punishment.
Friday will turn Red
from a Directional Force.
The Baron of Techno
knows Machine Gun Etiquette.
Hardcore.
s
stranger with Dave Clarke
Friday 24th October
Brown Alley
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