umbrella envy
The Richmond eases its wide bulk easily into the sea. A sluggish river of milk chocolate lumped through with half-sunk timber thick enough to breach a sailing boat’s hull. Unexpected rain squalls blast through the town trapping the unwary as they round blind corners.
Ballina.
This fellow.
We pass each other at the pharmacy entrance, me going in and him coming out. He’s shorter than me by four inches, solid, same age, packet of drugs under one arm, a furled umbrella held in his other hand.
Colour there.
‘Nice umbrella.’
I say.
He stops, looks at me. Looks at my umbrella.
‘But not as nice as mine.’
I hold out my (furled) umbrella for his examination, it’s a multi-coloured golfer’s extravaganza. Greg Norman quality.
‘Mine’s newer.’
He says.
A moment passes
‘But mine’s longer.’
I say.
petebowes.com 
It seems your ever present in Ballina. It reminds me of a couch stop where they used to water their horses and stay the night. The main highway gives that impression, Phin and I have stayed there, can’t remember where.