I have a new friend, Romy, and her animal powers match mine. She led me to a cathedral that held sacred space for daylight star-scapes, broken bottles, and asbestos.
Sitting sipping slurpies in an iconic location we made our own postcards with whiskey-lenses. I was bragging about the other day when I found unopened cans of Jim Beam soda, when I looked down and discovered an un-opened can of Jim Beam soda. I must be part of a secret marketing campaign for Jim Beam and I can’t say it bothers me. As we walked Romy noticed two more un-opened cans of whiskey-soda, these of the “Canadian Club” persuasion. “Canadian Club” must have been trying to one up Jim Beam. After crossing the Harbor Bridge, we reaped the shared rewards.
Because public drinking on postcard-view bay-benches is so nostalgic for the former underage-drinkers of Sydney, Romy and I proceeded to buy and share a bottle of Passion Pop. Sweet and purple.
If we didn’t catch the train at some point the conductor (who sweats ink) would have forced vouchers for “Sex in the City 2” on us. So we found our way through tunnels and forests and blue to 2:00 am, which was when our adventures took refuge in the dream-time.