Rachel Davies. Writer

Content Creation

Rachel Davies. Writer.
 

Shaka

There’s this thing peeps do here. Shaka. I didn’t know if it was for real. Thought it might have been from the movies or the past. But it’s really here. People do it all the time. Jim does it. I tried to do it but I felt like I was pretending. I was pretending, so it felt like what it was. I’ll just let it go, I thought, wait and see if it comes out my body naturally, you know. Even though I feel like a nerdy, little, white girl who doesn’t know how to shaka, I’ll just be honest.

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Summer with a Thousand Julys

I can’t remember when it started or finished. I remember unfolding the turn-ups of my trousers and cigarette butts falling out. I remember vommie pashing a guy called Gant. I remember putting a joint by my alarm clock before I went to bed, so I could light up when I opened my eyes. I remember going to brunch with friends one Sunday morning and having to leave the table every five minutes to puke. I remember my boss looking at my tits, raising his glass and cheering, “Another Friday Night!”
       Each day would blur wonderfully into the next and each hangover would find itself eventually able to make room for another nice cold glass of wine, and so it rolled round like a wheel, over and over.

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