Twisting Renegades

Nothing moves easily; the torrents of days; looking down through the clouds across the rain drenched inland; the lakes, the wetlands, the brolgas in the pastel mornings echoing the dawn of time. Here in the city the insane bustle gets worse. We delegate. We hide. We look on with contempt at the manipulation and dishonesty of others. We call, we can hear them calling, across those primitive lakes and through the channels that criss cross beneath the city; but for us, there is no salvation. The days get dirtier. The city gets dirtier. And our destinies? We can only hope to die in a peaceful manner.

THE STORY CONTINUES:

"She glared at him hatefully. 'Oh god, I just can't wait to go!'

"He roared off without looking back. Things were going bad between them and he felt he was getting the raw end of the deal. He looked after the kids in the morning, put them to bed at night, worked all day. She'd hang around the house, gossping to girlfriends on the phone, ignoring her university work, acting like a member of the oppressed if she had to pick up a broom. With the kids in childcare her load wasn't exactly heavy.

"A semitrailer belched smoke in front of them. The window was broken and there was nothing he could do to avoid the fumes. His eyes watered as he coughed, and behind him in his car seat little Sammy, normally bright and eager and happy, also coughed, his asthma getting worse. Arguments disturbed him. He liked everything to be in place. He loved his DaddyJohn and SuzyMom."

THE BIGGER STORY:

There'll be no more holidays in upmarket hotels in Thailand, by the look of things. I think, what fun, how lucky to escape the consequences.