We got out of the car and shut our doors in quick succession. The wind blew hard against the side of Matt’s afro. My hair was in my eyes. George dropped his towel in the wind, cursed, and went to collect it.
‘Come on, cunts.’ Said George, securing his towel around his shoulders.
Matt was pissing onto a patch of Spinifex. His piss was stretched out by the wind and broken into sparkling beads of an unhealthy shade of yellow.
We walked down the footpath and climbed the fence that stopped people entering the cliffs. We took off our shoes and walked along the jagged rocks of the cliff. There was the ocean all big and heaving bellow us. We used our shoes to protect our hands against sharp boulders and rock face. Our t-shirts clung to us in the wind. Matt stubbed his toe on a rock and yelped. Every now and then, sand would kick up in our faces and Matt’s afro would blow so far back it almost looked straight. George looked disgruntled, his face was scrunched up against the persistent wind.
‘These rocks are so shit,’ said George.
Matt and I nodded in agreement.
I made it to a patch of sand beneath a cave.
‘Fucking Slow Point!’ I shouted.
Matt and George made it over to the patch of sand. Matt shook his fists above his head awkwardly, like a champion swimmer; though, not sure if he’d actually won. George said nothing.
People had been in the cave before us; there was an old bong made out of a Gatorade bottle. There was a gutted mattress and a few half-buried beer bottles. We took off our t-shirts and stripped down to our underpants. George set his towel under a rock in the shade of the cave. We moved on our hands and feet to the water’s edge. Far out, the sea was choppy and there were white caps on the tops of the waves. We crept slowly; goose bumps had formed on all of us. A seagull flew by and looked at Matt and his hair and his underpants halfway down his arse. The seagull stopped flapping it’s wings and was instantly blown up and away by the wind. The water directly bellow us was shallow above the reef; the surface of the water was furry and wild and the waves smashed up against the rocks.
George lowered himself into the water, his shoulders up by his ears. Matt sat down on the rock and dangled his feet in the water. I stayed where I was.
‘Do your interpretive dance,’ I urged George.
‘I forgot how to do it.’
Matt laughed. Then George started moving around in the water like a retarded peacock on speed. He rolled his fists around each other and angled his Adam’s apple towards the sky. Matt’s laughter intensified. I joined in.
