My car stalled the first few times he started it up. Underneath the sound of the revving engine, he muttered, “Fucking shit thing”. I tried not to take it personally.
If this is a quest for truth then is Cold Chisel really the right soundtrack for it? Is there something more appropriate to listen to when stepping into libraries and archives or will my ears be forever ringing with the sound of a harmonica and Jimmy’s cigarette-stained vocal chords?
On the first night I drink beer and stare into a creek waiting for a platypus to appear with Sonja. When the mozzies come instead of the platypus, we go inside and play cards with some of the others. It surprises me how quickly I start to get along with them, and how it only takes a couple of beers and a game of Shithead to do it.
Rod knows the secrets of the universe – that’s why his hair is so big. If you drive out far enough to the middle of a desert where there is no industrial noise you might be able to hear them, whispered within Maggie May.
Frankie was sad. She was curled up in the foetal position on her bedroom floor, dressed in her long-sleeved, sequined, shoulder-padded dress and quietly weeping. From her laptop ‘Islands In The Stream’ by Dolly Parton and Kenny Rogers was playing, set on repeat.
There’s no one to pick me up when I arrive at Tarneit station. Two people who got off the train with me walk over to the nearest bus stop and sit down. I have nowhere to go.
Heather sat on the other side of the glass, cross-legged with her back to me as she worked carefully to repot one of her shrubs.