the hawkesbury school
An empty dumpster cannonaded past him at the bottom of a narrow passage and Berrigan glimpsed the crazy smile of the driver as he crashed past.
The cold dinner in a wet forest where every nighttime beastie needs warm blood.
he wished me good luck and walked on ..
Blackmud beach, winding goat tracks all wandering up to some unpainted timber shacks under the meagre shade of skinny-limbed eucalypts all monstered by the droning shrill of the world’s best cicada population.
Bill Tilman was a knuckled down kind of man with a gouged out architrave of a forehead that looked lined like an in-coming groundswell, he sucked a pipe that would have satisfied a room full of potheads and he washed as insincerely as does any Englishman in the tropics.