Sydney
They totter around with chequered shirts and jeans boots and hats. The fashion of this country town where we be working.
Cycle from Blackheath to Katoomba on the Great Western. I love riding, it's the cars that get in the way of me having a good time.
The bakeries are swelling. Two fifty for a hot cross bun. Outright murder. May as well trade-in the second born.
The young fraughtlessly wreck themselves on the sharper edges of reality. This is where they are firmly lodged. They cannot upheave everything rhis lazy consciousness has drooled over.
The dick is always on the forehead of indifference.