Rock n Roll Babes from Outer Space by Linda Jaivin Page A

finger to the same button. Aliens had a way with machines. Something to do with the amount of electrical current running through their synapses. That’s why, as is frequently reported by ‘experiencers’, when aliens or their craft are in the ‘hood, cars tend to stall and television screens dissolve in static. With that sort of power over the mechanical world, no money, no worries. Out popped another black container. Lati fished it out of the tray, and unwrapped it. After they’d all examined the hypodermic syringe inside, cooedand clucked over it, she popped the needle into her mouth and ate it.
    This sight prompted the fireman to drop his cigarette, which promptly ignited a scrap of litter. This, in turn, blew up the street to the cafe next door and landed on a pile of weekend papers, setting them alight.
    By the time a waiter had put out the flames with an eccoccino, the girls were well up the street. They didn’t really understand what the fuss was all about. Earthlings eat animal and vegetable, ayles fang down on mineral. It would be quite ridiculous, not to mention rude, don’t you think, if every time an alien spotted an Earthling troughing out on a bowl of pasta it set the place on fire?

    Tristram wandered up King Street in search of his twin. He found Torquil standing with folded arms, gazing into the window of their favourite op shop, The Fifth Scarf. Torquil was wearing the sort of baggy, low-crotched cotton trousers colloquially known as poo-catchers, and a Mambo theology t-shirt depicting the descent to Earth of a three-eyed alien rock god. His olive-complexioned brow was furrowed and his large black eyes half-closed in contemplation of an aqua blue feather boa which happened to match, almost exactly, the colour of his hair.
    ‘Yo, bro,’ Tristram greeted him. ‘Am I my brother’s beeper, or what? Time for our jam.’
    ‘What d’ya reckon?’ Torquil replied. ‘Do I absolutely need this feather boa or what?’
    ‘What.’”
    ‘What?’
    ‘You said “or what” and I’m answering. What. Like,you don’t need this feather boa.’
    ‘Right. That settles it.’ Torquil spun on his heel and entered the shop, emerging less than a minute later with the boa coiled around his neck. ‘Well?’ he said. ‘What are you hanging around here for? We’ve got to get home and rehearse.’
    Tristram agreeably turned in the direction of home.
    ‘Whoa! Whoa,’ Torquil called out. ‘No need to rush. Besides, dunno ‘bout you, but I need a nosebag. Got any moolah? I spent all mine on this.’ He flapped the end of the boa at Tristram. A feather escaped, and they watched it float away. It landed on the street, where it was promptly run over by a ute. Torquil laughed. ‘Cool,’ he said. ‘I thought it came with too many feathers. Well?’
    ‘Well what?’
    ‘Got any dosh?’
    Tristram shook his head. ‘Zilch. I just checked. And my next dole cheque doesn’t come till tomorrow.’
    ‘Spewin’.’ Torquil was outraged. ‘How does the government expect us to budget our money when they give us so little to begin with, hey? Tell me that.’
    ‘I tell you nothing,’ said Tristram, fishing a bag of Maltesers from the pocket of his leather jacket and handing them to his brother. They were walking in the direction of home now. They copped a fair amount of staring. Identical twins usually did, even those who didn’t go to the additional trouble of dyeing their hair bright purple and blue and tying it up in rows of tiny rosebud-like knots, à la Björk
circa
‘Violently Happy’. Then there was the matter of Tristram’s frock and Torquil’s feather boa, of course.
    A boy stepped out in front of them and pointed. ‘Are you guys twins?’
    They each looked around in confusion. ‘Sorry?’ said Tristram. ‘Do you see someone else here?’
    Torquil, meanwhile, began contorting his face and slapping it while tapping his feet on the pavement. Without taking his eyes off the kid, Tristram joined in, snapping