Winding our way down into Cairns, Australia, my friend and I were too tired to drive. We’d driven from Alice Springs straight.
We let Johnny 23 drive. We’d never let him drive before. It wasn’t that we didn’t trust him, it was more … yeah, we didn’t trust him.
We added the number after his name because he had slept with 23 women in his 3 months in Australia.
The movie ConAir was big at the time.
When we first met him, he was only Johnny 16.
He had a shaved head, face piercings, could do a few magic tricks, and played 6 songs on his crappy guitar. He didn’t drink or do drugs.
So while the rest of us were drinking and doing drunken things, he was impressing women with his 6 songs and magic trickery.
I was co-piloting the stationwagon and saw something in our lane up ahead.
“Something’s in the road Johnny”, I warned.
It was big and not moving.
“Drive around it Johnny”, I advised.
Maybe it was a bag of garbage that fell off of a truck.
“Turn the wheel Johnny”, I shouted.
He veered 2 inches to the right.
“Turn the wheel more”, I screamed.
He ran over the unidentified object with 2 tires and almost took both axels off the car.
He stopped: we got out to check for damage to the car and to see what he’d hit.
Blood covered the left side of the stationwagon.
He’d hit a wild pig.
To be more specific, he’d hit an already dead wild pig.
He’d killed a dead pig.
He was banished to the backseat forever with no protest.