handbag snippets

For some reason my bus has only old people - except for me.


I sit by the girl
She leaves
A boy enters
He sits by the other boy


On the verge of health and riches I am most impatient. Hating my own gut, I go out to find people in unusual places - I climb trees to be with possums and drink cider for the health benefits of the minor artificial fruit content.

I always love an ending and hold onto it like some desperate child clinging to its parent womb.

Willingly, I would take five thousand poisons for friends. But I refuse to stand next to your primitive light - like I said, I'm on an apple diet.

My best accessory is a plastic bag and a plastic bottle to match (this is my plastic boycott). I am saving the world one casual sneaker on a crusty foot inching it's way into the pub at a time.

People are throwing fast food fast over my head and over and over, hangover, pizza in flight across the Tasman, be careful 'cause the pavement will pee on you unless you get him first.

You can park your bicycle at the bar if you intend to order upwards of $40.00 of drinks. But don't ask for a jager bomb - they call it something else here.

I saw a heavily tattooed man stretch his pinky finger out towards another man and the other man walked away smiling coyly. I think it was their first date. Out on Sydney's bigger and stranger version of K Road, with its Friday night manners.


Bus to Newtown
Newboy
Newboy from Newtown
He has your eyes and, I imagine, his hair


We would lie sides apart: parallel train tracks going nowhere; our vision on the 'ahead' and not each other. In these rare moments I hated the sun. Kisses were earned in arm wrestles rather than love. Your room stunk of self-assurance. I shed myself of you in the Chinese Garden on a hotter-than usual day and from a distance you fed me stories of your dead relatives who did not yet suffer arthritis or alzheimer's.