Father…son…father meet son.
A minimum wage father and twenty-something hipster emerging artist son in conversation.
Father: ‘Aye..yeah…I was doin’ a gardenin’ job on the Pointeso Interstate Zone 34 at the petrol station and this bloke pulls up in a big posh white Lamborghini.’
Son: Speaks muffled phone voice.
Father: ‘No…I didn’t know who it was. He just said ‘I’ve just seen the job you’ve done there…dya wanna come and work for me? I’d have ye two days a week at The Naze Vale Gallery…never heard of it…’
Son: Hysterical exclamations.
Father: ‘Ah right…well I’m out of the loop on what all the youngies are up to nowadays. Yeah he said a few things had come to light in the gallery…staff bookin’ hours when they hadn’t been there. He lives in one of those big bloody mansions on Battery Row near the Pointeso Football ground. ‘
Son: Unheard excited chatter.
Father: ‘Nah…ye might as well stay with the people ye know than the people ye don’t know…’
