Yesterday

I was sitting squarely in the part of the world where all my troubles began. Oh Western Sydney how I despise you. I was stared at in the shops for my sunglasses and my normal going to the shops clothes. I later changed into trackpants and a t-shirt, I suspect this would allow me to travel the territory incognito.

People here wear clothes from the same shops, they have yesterday's hair and shiny cars of identity. They walk around confident in their absolute knowledge of every blemish on every blade of grass. Every person they have every known walks past them on the street and they give an inner nod and in the next step smile because their rank on the scale did not change.

People have extra bathrooms to block out the world.

I am trying to remember what it is I loved for so long in the Hawkesbury which is undeniably west. It was things, always things like the slow wave of the mountains, the horizon. Emerging from behind anything to find unexpected spaces. Open ground and the physical memory of being lost, McCubbin lost.

I am still in my squalid sanctuary, the last of my laundry in machines. Soon I'll make my way east and give in to the great tidal pull of that magnetic bitch Sydney.

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