music for skinned knees

They grilled us for four hours solid, there in that breezeless, off-white stained room. It did have a window but the view was crap.
“What’s your favourite colour?”
“What job would you like to when you grow up?”
“What is your favourite food?”
“If you could go on holiday anywhere in the world, where would you go?”

“… is that in summer or winter?”, I wanted to clarify.

“Just answer the damn question!”

In the end we had to sign something and I have no idea what it said. One guy, a canadian, and when I say it was a canadian you know that it was always going to be a canadian, was trying to look it over carefully, as if it would make some difference.
The huge gorilla who had accompanied us through all this started hooting. He wanted the things signed so we could get out of there. The canadian reacted. A tense scene, believe you me.

Later outside by the van the gorilla loped around the five of us guys, sniffing at us and mussing our hair with his giant black hairy hand. Despite his gorillaness, he wanted us to be okay with it all, and I suspect, to not be pissed at him, although why I have no idea.

We’re talking about a fairly intelligent primate here, and I’m giving it to you straight when I say that he could drive– drove the van–but kept taking wrong turns.
As a gesture of wanting to make it all better he took us to KFC because we’d missed dinner due to the interrogation.

It was busy in town and I’ve seen some hella parkjobs in this country but so far this topped it. The gorilla drove across the intersection toward the corner-situated KFC, mounted the pavement and parked smack-bang right infront of the main doors and completely blocked the footpath.
I had to go take a slash so I didn’t see it, but the gorilla grabbed the canadian and forcefully hugged him and wanted reciprocation as sign of forgiveness. The brash new yorker in the party said it often; the gorilla really was a sensitive beast.