little by little by little by little

So it happens Lemmynme are always together, fatboyandbeanpole, people see us so often, they forget to even laugh.

We walk home from school together, then when we get home we rush to the phone and talk to each other for hours: we talk about hairstyles, fashions, what's on TV, filmstars, our parents, their friends. This is important.

We go to the pictures a lot, I mean what else is there to do in Auckland except sit in the dark and imagine living some place else? One night at the St James the film wasn't any good, it wasn't even funny but Lemmy doesn't let that spoil his enjoyment in the sweet jaffa dark with the men and girls all glued together flesh touch-touching.

Lemmy sits there looking all around at them then is silent. Then he starts laughing. He starts off very low and casual, like he's the only person in the audience who really gets the joke, and the couples aren't noticing under the wall of wash which flickers silver shade all over us. But Lemmy wants to let out his laugh so he laughs some more—even at things which aren't even funny.

I start laughing too. We laugh in the dark like our laughs are coming from somewhere else, some other part of the plastery ornate theatre. Lemmy starts laughing more and more, more like he can't control it and he's watching the funniest thing in the world.

And suddenly it is funny because up there on the big dream wall are all these stupid filmstars acting and carrying on opening car doors and looking at each other and patting their hairdos and they can't see the joke; they're locked out.

Now Lemmy in the plush lush dark has all the couples coming unglued. Lips leave lips as the air all around us fills with Lemmy's uncontrollable laughter, backed up, bit by bit, seat after seat, row by row, by other people who start off laughing at Lemmy's laugh but before long in the tight night page 109 everyone is laughing, the whole place is going mad, a sad man along from us sitting alone is laughing so hard he's in pain, he's crying and he's laughing and he's pleading saying, please, stop, please, stop and the back doors have now swung open as the usherettes swarm in, their torches strobing the dark, and Lemmy stops laughing, he just cuts it off with a razor, he nudges me sharp in the ribs and whispers Petesinclair, Let's Go!

His voice is so urgent that I cut off my own laughter and we run out of the dark, push open the back doors and leave all these people sitting in the dark laughing so hard some of them are crying: and the wonderful thing is: not one of them knows they are the joke.