There’s a slut in the water, cuz. That’s what the Lebs say as soon as we land on Bondi Beach. Then they take their singlets off and lie down on the sand, a line of bulging noses and chest hair and big biceps. I leave them behind and sway through the waves towards the freckled girl who stands alone and off-balance about three metres from the shore. She is the same height as me, but her hair is bright blonde under the Australian sun and mine is an afro of black, and her skin has pinked like a piglet and mine is browning like a true sand nigger. She wears blue board shorts and a blue bikini, even though she doesn’t look like she needs any upper body support because her chest is a pancake. My chest is a pancake too. Like every Lebo, I had one workout routine throughout all of winter, which I performed with a 20-kilo dumbbell in my bedroom in front of a poster of Arnold Schwarzenegger. Monday: biceps. Tuesday: biceps. Wednesday: biceps. Thursday: biceps. Friday: biceps. Saturday: biceps. Sunday: have a wank. Every day, scream out: ‘big biceps for summer!’

‘Ay give us your number,’ I say to the girl in the water as I approach her. I don’t know why Lebs always say ‘us’ when we mean ‘me’. Maybe it’s because we don’t like to admit we’re alone, we have the Bedouin tribe mentality.