“I wanted a mission and for my sins they gave me one.” Captain Willard.
Upriver. Parramatta. Green to gold and then to black. Bubbling. Turmoil. Jet foil. Narrower and narrower. “It’s a slow boat,” someone warns but the thrust of the jet fools us into thinking it’s going to blaze. Stop after stop. Sleep on an inside seat. Dreams I can’t remember. Straps of my bag twisted around my arm. No guarantee. I’m some other place now.
Deep tracks on a retired court. Pools of water. Rain speckles the deck. Push and carve. Overlooking the second city. A plan is formed, broken into thirds. I’m not worried. Well traveled road here.
Two dollar flatbread. Destruction of the old, in with the new. Turn the place over and then move on. Escaping from the city feels like just that. An escape, although looking back I can see where we started from. Not that far. What if we could do whatever we want? What would the plan be? I actually don’t know. Prepping images for print. An idea forms. A partnership.
Step one. Leave the desk.