I just ate almost an entire tin of mints. The tin looks like an old Nintendo controller and the mints taste like chalk. For some reason the appearance of the tin made me feel reassured about the distinctly un-minty taste of these mints. Nintendo would never lend itself to something harmful.
I feel slightly ill now and have a dull headache.
There is one mint lying in the streaked white powder at the bottom of the tin. I can see fingerprints where I have plucked a mint, oh hell, where I plucked two or sometimes three mints at the same time. My fingertips feel dusty.
I remember reading somewhere that mint helps you concentrate and that classical music makes you smarter. I feel wired and clamp on my headphones and play Symphony No. 1 ‘Da Pacem Domine’ by the Adelaide Symphony Orchestra.
By the end of the day I will be some kind of genius, I am sure.
I remember a drunken night when I lived in Canberra, when an unhinged man punched someone in the face and amongst the screams and shouts that carried in the night sky, fell a tooth. I remembered that you can save a tooth if you put it in milk and cover it with foil.
I searched for the tooth amongst the gravel and grit and found it. My fingertips felt dusty.
The hospital was called, a dental surgeon was on-call and would be waiting to receive this man and the cool vessel which contained what was once pride of place at the front of his mouth. The crowd drifted away into the cool night and someone turned to me and asked, ‘How did you know? How did you know how to save the tooth?’
I began my walk home, on a poorly lit path that ran alongside a sinister pine forest. I called back over my shoulder, the cool air the vessel for the answer to the question everyone now wanted to know, the answer which would save this man his smile, his pride.
‘Mal Meninga said it in the Daily Tele once.’.