“Look, there he is.”
Caro, the younger of the twelve year old twins hiding in the very proper hedge, scoots forward and parts the tangled branches.
“He’s so black,” she says, whispering.
“He’s so naked,” replies Musa, her brother, his Afro tilted to one side from having slept on it all night.
Up on the balcony the lithe black figure rolls out of sight.
“Charlie says he goes out at night, and when he comes back there’s always someone missing.”
“How can anyone go missing on Jacaranda Avenue,” Caro says incredulously pushing her brightly coloured poncho over her shoulder,
“There’d be cops all over the place. You just don’t like him because he’s got muscles!”
Musa and his distinctly trapizoid afro are horrified.
“What’s that got to do with anything,” he replies, obviously hurt.
“I’ve heard you lifting your bed at night,” Caro continues, “You know, you need more weight. I could sit on it, if you wanted.”
Suddenly there is a furious commotion and eleven dogs come rushing to the hedge, yipping and yapping. The twins flee, branches tearing at Musa’s unruly hair and catching on Caro’s brightly colored poncho as they scamble out of their dug-out and run straight into their mother, a burly busty woman, who has been standing there the whole time.
“Yes,” she says dryly, chewing her lip.
“What he DOES he do with all those dogs…”
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