The small country town of
"Kickatinalong" is in terminal decline. The only bank has closed its
doors, there is not a Quid, Deener, zak, or even a tray in town. The only people
remaining are: The publican, a doctor, and a panel beater.
It is late one Friday afternoon when a stranger
stops off at the pub; throws 100 Quid on the bar for a drink now and, wants the
change in liquid form for a party next weekend.
Monday morning, while climbing steps to reach
for the liquidity the stranger requested for the weekend; the publican slips and
breaks his arm - he ambles over to the Quack and slips him the 100 Quid for some
more solidity in his crook arm. The Quack fixes up the Publican and, now he has
a few Quid to spend, he drops the Jalopy off at the Panel Beaters to get the
drivers side door to open again. The Panel Beater - as is his wont when flush
with a Quid or two - ambles over to the pub and converts the paper to its liquid
form.
Stone the bloody crows, the stranger enters some
time later, cancels the order for the grog, and gets the change from his 100
Quid back from the Publican!
I tried to figger out which of the locals won
and who lost in that game, but had to concede to meself that nobody lost, in
fact they all gained. I figgered thus: did the Publican get what he wanted, and
paid for it? Yep, he got his arm fixed. Did the Quack get what he wanted, and
paid for it? Yep, he got the Jalopy door fixed. Did the Panel Beater pay for his
piss? Yep.
Well strike me pink I sez to meself. Blow me
down if that bloody stranger did not hold the power of life and death over
Kickatinalong for a few days! All he had to do was chuck a Quid on the bar and
trade took off, but when he took his quid back and left town, then Kickatinalong
allowed itself to die again. Strewth!
