“Now why did he think that? Jake was unsure how the words had popped into his mind. Then again, he was unsure about a lot of things. Like how he came to be standing on King Street in his Sydney suburb of Newtown at the ungodly hour of eight o’clock on a Sunday morning, staring at the ‘CLOSED’ sign on the door to his flatmates’ shop, and tingling from head to toe. His head hurt. He was missing one sock. Newtown, with its dominant population of crusties, punks, rockers, ravers, piercing artists, t...attoo artists, installation artists, wannabe artists, bullshit artists and piss artists, wasn’t exactly a morning kind of place. It never felt particularly perky at this hour. In fact, just like Jake at this precise moment, Newtown felt like it had kitty litter for a brain. Newtown wanted to crawl onto its old stained mattress on the floor and pull its unwashed covers over its face. Newtown craved a Berocca and a darker pair of sunnies. Newtown needed to spend less time in pubs, less money on drugs and to pay more attention to the pamphlets given out in its health food stores, vegetarian restaurants and natural healing centres.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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