Spring fever

Were those the voices in my head again? How else could I be hearing, between gusts of southwest wind, Australian-tinged shouts on the pedestrian bridge?

"G'day, boat!"
"I love you, boat! Farewell!"
"Go, boat, go!"

Okay. So the sun was shining, the wind was blowing, and two drunk Australians were drinking beer on the bridge, cheering on a glinting silver object as it bobbed on the river.
They ignored the runners and cyclists but greeted me with gusto.

"G'evening, or I mean, g'day," one hiccuped. "Do you got a farewell message for our boat?"
"Your boat?"
"Yeah, we're making boats today." The other guy pointed to his beer can and grinned. "Now come on, give us something with emotion."
It was a bad week and I froze up as soon as I heard "emotion." Oh, you drunk darlings, if you want emotion, I could scream and cry at the goddamn boat. I could rage, rage at the dying of the light. I could send it sweet farewells while sobbing, but don't ask for something witty and drunkenly endearing.

A wan "go boat go."
"Aw, come on, something with Emotion!"
Shrugged my shoulders. "I gots nothing, mates. Sorry."

They heckled me gently as I walked away, turned back to the river and bellowed encouragement to their boat.