He sometimes came by Mrs Browns in the morning, and stopped down at the bottom of the road, early. Blat .. Blaton his car horn, his Holden station wagon. Warren was the only one with a station wagon and the blat blat was for get your arse to the Pass. Sometimes it was for Broken Head and he was the first to know, and here’s me and Algy with an old rusted black VW to get there.
We never got a ride in Warren’s car, and not many got a ride in his life. He was a personal man.
A fellow named Pete Green told me that Warren had died yesterday, we were outside the Lennox paper shop and I’d just sharpshot him because he was my age and looking ok in a Jacobs Tshirt. So two old surfers got talking, and he told me. Pete Green knew Warren…
View original post 491 more words