Cascade Street, Katoomba

6pm Julia’s place, Cascade Street, Katoomba. There’s a house at 40 Fifth Avenue, Katoomba, a long walk from the station, north Katoomba. It looks over the National Park [actually no, a reserve]. Bushfire risk, I guess. I spose I’d grab Prince and put him in his cat cage like Sigourney Weaver did in Alien, and run down the road. There is a back verandah looking out over the bush. I need to have it. I might put a holding deposit on it tomorrow, go into overdrive and do the whole thing. A back verandah to sit on and look out. Cold in winter but beautiful in summer.

On Julia’s fridge, stuck with a magnet, are recent LETS minutes. LETS being the barter scheme they’ve got operating here in the mountains. There, down the page, a reference to Barry and Annolies and the office equipment. So I’m sitting here in Julia’s home and have immediate access to threads from the past.

I’m leaving Newtown. I have loved Newtown from the bottom of my heart. That Neighbourhood Centre. I’ve gone through those doors for so many different reasons. Bob’s showing of The Lone Gunman Theory (in which the gunman assassinates Pauline Hanson), a forum on pornography with Beatrice Faust and Anne Delaney with me as the third speaker, organised by Green Left. On any given Wednesday night, all sorts of things going on, women’s kickboxing, Socialist ? (mental blank – state cap people). I’ve sold Green Left at the railway station opposite, smiling at homecoming city workers, selling heaps and heaps of papers because I was in such a damn good mood, the sunset dazzling me from behind The Hub erotic cinema.

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