suburb,â said Taylor.
We cycled through a series of similar streets as the sun dipped and spread giant eucalypt-shaped shadows across the bitumen. I checked a couple of houses and a deli as we went. Each place told a replica story. No sign of habitation, but the cupboards and shelves were stripped bare. We stewed quietly over our lack of supplies and kept moving. Eventually it was dark and we bunked down in a brick-and-tile place to eat some dry noodles from the hills. Taylor got caught out in the toilet and Lizzy and I had to ransack the place for tissues. It was like somebody was going from house to house, taking everything but the furniture.
The place was hot and musty and before long the three of us gravitated to join Chess on the porch. Taylor and Lizzy scrolled through the iTunes library on somebodyâs laptop. Between them they had a couple of hard drives and a plan to collect some decent music as we journeyed to the city. So far the bounty had been small. Most laptops were out of charge, having lay dormant for so long. Others, like this one, did have charge, but the library was full of
Idol
winners and top forty.
Chess shuffled about and whimpered. I watched as his ears shifted about with the sounds of the night.
Abruptly they stopped.
There were footsteps coming from somewheredown the street. The three of us froze and stared out into the blackness. The footsteps shifted from the road to concrete or something smoother. A door opened somewhere, then there was silence. We shared a glance and strained our ears. After a few moments we heard the door reopen and the footsteps resumed across the concrete, then back out onto the street. This time they were getting louder. Moving toward us.
Lizzy took a hold of Chessâs collar. Out of the darkness came the tiny red glow of a cigarette. Then the thin silhouette of a young guy carrying a can of food and some toilet paper. He shuffled along, smoking and humming a silent tune in his head. He was right alongside us when he stopped and looked up.
Chess let out a bark.
âHey,â he said.
âHey,â said Lizzy.
âJust getting some beans,â he said.
We nodded. He finished his cigarette and looked up at the sky for a while as if he had almost forgotten we were there. He looked like your regular everyday hipster. Beard. Boots. Oversized flannelette.
âYou live near here?â asked Taylor.
The guy looked confused. As if the idea of having a home was somehow strange.
âWe jam at a warehouse on Henry Street,â he replied.
9
The warehouse was a slum. In a previous world it had been a food wholesaler with a converted rehearsal space for bands built into the back corner. Now it looked like the set from
Trainspotting
. There were mattresses scattered around the floor. Rubbish kicked into corners and stacked in overflowing boxes. The charred remains of haphazard fires made during winter. A layer of dirt on the floor so thick that it felt springy to walk on. And, slumped on couches beneath a bank of jittery fluoros, four anaemic looking members of local five-piece Kink & Kink.
Joseph, the guy from the street, didnât introduce us. He just took his beans over to a sink area and started looking through a stack of grimy pots and plates. The people on the couch, a girl and three guys, had glanced at us upon entry, but appeared totally underwhelmed at our presence in their warehouse. A Smiths record was droning away under a dusty needle in the corner.
Taylor glanced over at Joseph and shifted uncomfortably.
âHow are you guys doing?â asked Lizzy and strolled over with Chess at her heels. Taylor and I trailed behind her.
The band looked our way, a little surprised.
âWhere did you find an Australian shepherd?â another bearded guy asked.
âOh, heâs a border collie I think. He kinda found us,â replied Lizzy.
âItâs an Australian shepherd. The colouring is darker,â said the guy.
Lizzy
We cycled through a series of similar streets as the sun dipped and spread giant eucalypt-shaped shadows across the bitumen. I checked a couple of houses and a deli as we went. Each place told a replica story. No sign of habitation, but the cupboards and shelves were stripped bare. We stewed quietly over our lack of supplies and kept moving. Eventually it was dark and we bunked down in a brick-and-tile place to eat some dry noodles from the hills. Taylor got caught out in the toilet and Lizzy and I had to ransack the place for tissues. It was like somebody was going from house to house, taking everything but the furniture.
The place was hot and musty and before long the three of us gravitated to join Chess on the porch. Taylor and Lizzy scrolled through the iTunes library on somebodyâs laptop. Between them they had a couple of hard drives and a plan to collect some decent music as we journeyed to the city. So far the bounty had been small. Most laptops were out of charge, having lay dormant for so long. Others, like this one, did have charge, but the library was full of
Idol
winners and top forty.
Chess shuffled about and whimpered. I watched as his ears shifted about with the sounds of the night.
Abruptly they stopped.
There were footsteps coming from somewheredown the street. The three of us froze and stared out into the blackness. The footsteps shifted from the road to concrete or something smoother. A door opened somewhere, then there was silence. We shared a glance and strained our ears. After a few moments we heard the door reopen and the footsteps resumed across the concrete, then back out onto the street. This time they were getting louder. Moving toward us.
Lizzy took a hold of Chessâs collar. Out of the darkness came the tiny red glow of a cigarette. Then the thin silhouette of a young guy carrying a can of food and some toilet paper. He shuffled along, smoking and humming a silent tune in his head. He was right alongside us when he stopped and looked up.
Chess let out a bark.
âHey,â he said.
âHey,â said Lizzy.
âJust getting some beans,â he said.
We nodded. He finished his cigarette and looked up at the sky for a while as if he had almost forgotten we were there. He looked like your regular everyday hipster. Beard. Boots. Oversized flannelette.
âYou live near here?â asked Taylor.
The guy looked confused. As if the idea of having a home was somehow strange.
âWe jam at a warehouse on Henry Street,â he replied.
9
The warehouse was a slum. In a previous world it had been a food wholesaler with a converted rehearsal space for bands built into the back corner. Now it looked like the set from
Trainspotting
. There were mattresses scattered around the floor. Rubbish kicked into corners and stacked in overflowing boxes. The charred remains of haphazard fires made during winter. A layer of dirt on the floor so thick that it felt springy to walk on. And, slumped on couches beneath a bank of jittery fluoros, four anaemic looking members of local five-piece Kink & Kink.
Joseph, the guy from the street, didnât introduce us. He just took his beans over to a sink area and started looking through a stack of grimy pots and plates. The people on the couch, a girl and three guys, had glanced at us upon entry, but appeared totally underwhelmed at our presence in their warehouse. A Smiths record was droning away under a dusty needle in the corner.
Taylor glanced over at Joseph and shifted uncomfortably.
âHow are you guys doing?â asked Lizzy and strolled over with Chess at her heels. Taylor and I trailed behind her.
The band looked our way, a little surprised.
âWhere did you find an Australian shepherd?â another bearded guy asked.
âOh, heâs a border collie I think. He kinda found us,â replied Lizzy.
âItâs an Australian shepherd. The colouring is darker,â said the guy.
Lizzy
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