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Never went thru with it, tho—chickened out, big time! Drove off, yellin’, “Marge’d skin me alive!” Candy waved, shoutin’, “Come back, ya goof!” Laughed ‘til I cried—me, a tractor drivin’ loser, chasin’ wild tales. Next day, plowin’ again, I’m hummin’, “Stories we tell ourselves”—damn good flick, damn weird night! What ya think, bud? Crazy, huh? D’oh!

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I finally make it to the park on the corner of Whitby Road. It’s a nice spot, but today it’s packed with families. Kids runnin’ everywhere, parents tryin’ to keep up. I sit down on a bench, just tryin’ to catch my breath. And then, this little kid runs up to me, all wide-eyed. He’s like, “Are you a real matador?” I’m like, “Yeah, kid, but I don’t fight bulls in the park.”

William Whitby Obituary (2024) - Kingsford, New South Wales