Free Luck in the Greater West by Damian McDonald

to being good-looking.
    â€”Have you got any? she asked.
    â€”Always, baby, the original talker answered.
    â€”Hmm, Nat said, and smiled at the cute one. She’d been hanging out for a smoke, but she didn’t like smoking on her own much. Her mind would tear off in sometimes worrying directions when there was no company to make her laugh. And if these guys supplied the pot, she could save her stash for later.
    â€”We should go for a smoke. What’s ya name, baby? the guy asked.
    â€”Buffy, Nat said, because all this attention made her feel like the vampire slayer.
    Â 
    They got off at Lidcombe Station and walked a few blocks to a car detailer’s workshop. The more confident guy’s car was there having new seats installed.
    â€”What was wrong with the old seats? Nat asked.
    â€”They’re not as cool as these new ones, he told her. And I still got extra money from my car loan ta blow.
    They got in the car and headed for a place where the guys said they could have a quiet, undisturbed smoke. They seemed to be heading back west, but a way Nat wasn’t familiar with. She looked around at the guys from her position in the back seat, trying to read their expressions. It felt weird, being so close to these guys, in this little car, when she didn’t know them at all. She couldn’t read them. And they weren’t talking. They wound through back streets and Nat got glimpses of things she thought she recognised: a corner store, a novelty letterbox. Until they parked. They were in the carpark of a public pool. But it was clearly no longer used. The garden surrounding the building was oversized and growing into shapes that no council gardener would have allowed. The boys said they smoked here all the time; that it’d be cool, that no one came down here. Nat wasn’t quite sure which pool it was. She wasn’t much of a pool kid growing up.
    They passed the carapace of the building that was once the ice-skating rink, and their voices echoed through the smashed windows. Two of the boys talked in Arabic, humourlessly. The cute one, who didn’t seem to understand the language either, looked at Nat. Then one of the other guys took out his mobile phone and began talking in Arabic, now with a bit more animation. It relaxed Nat a bit, as she’d begun to think that the guys’ moods had altered since they’d got here — they seemed to be in a hurry to get to the place where they’d have the session. But she didn’t feel like smoking with them anymore.
    At the initial-carved barbecue benches that families once used when eating their hot chips with water-wrinkled fingers, a jointwas passed around. Nat refused a toke on the first round, but on the second was forced to explain.
    â€”Have some, one of the guys urged.
    â€”Nah, I don’t really feel like it now, she said.
    â€”Huh? Have some. You said ya wanted some. Have a toke.
    â€”No, really, I might just head home actually, Natalie said, and stood up.
    â€”Huh? Sit down, babe. C’mon, relax. We won’t bite.
    â€”Hmm. I’ll stay for a little while, but I don’t want any pot, really. She sat back down. She noticed something switch on in the guy’s eyes when she made to leave, something she wanted to avoid seeing again. Going along with him seemed to stop it.
    â€”Sure, the more confident one said. Sure, it’s up to you. It’s good stuff. You’re pretty hot, ya know.
    â€”Thanks. But now I know you’ve had too much pot, Nat giggled, trying some artificial sweetener on the situation. Anything to stop him from looking at her again with that expression in his eyes.
    â€”Nuh. So, have ya ever gone out with a Leb? he asked.
    â€”No, I don’t really know any.
    â€”So, would ya like to have a Lebanese boyfriend? Ya know we’re the best lovers in the world. Ya’ll never go back after ya’ve had Leb-style, he said, and they all laughed.
    â€”I