Three fifty beers then champagne breakfast before the Melbourne Cup. What a day in prospect glad I will be sleeping.
Unfortunately others not so lucky. Two policemen were murdered; the family member of the suspect says, is your mother mental give him up, he is already in the nick what more do they want.
Australia Hotel rendezvous with my cab in the lane, cars of the crooks land to meet us, have been watching every move from the silos.
Poor mum in tears on Chestnut Street child in arms held aside weeping who has seen the police dismantle her cottage brick by beam.
Triptych – would never forget the collisions in those times.
House lit up like an aquarium. Gantrified industrial area, can’t you shut the blinds, sit back listen to his poor engorged hubris, watch his engorged gut.
Any healing will be slow, his monumental chiseled features, look out for the catalepsy – I bail just before he fails to sign the cheque, he demanded I do not speak just listen as he touches up the rock art myths of youthful heroics, saves the suicidal woman at the cliff top yet again, romances her on the spot, wins the race across the heads to clamors of admiration. But now the lingering paeans of last hangers on begin to fade. They do not appreciate his victimhood. So much harm he unwillingly does to others but is so charismatically naive and impossible to dislike. Of his good time mates now only I remain.