Its stainless boutiques and sporty bazaars. Its Taylor Swift corridors and tireless escalators. Its complacent capitalism and top-heavy security. Its complicit brand names and rubbish car parks. Its bothered shoppers and homeless residents. Its framed McCubbins and half-price Condors. It’s escapist air-conditioning and its cologne. Its stackers and checkouts. Its flocks of iPhoners and vacant vapers. Its cellophaned orchids and pre-packaged cacti. Its marble floor plan and stretched skylights. Its grocery valleys and trolley mountains. Its sudden coffees and decorative doughnuts. Its jaded January and surreal September. Its fraught pharmacies and two dollar emporia. Its distant exits and practical chairs.
Monday, 24 September 2018
Its stubborn conservatism and riptide radicalism. Its crooked streets and meandering freeways. Its dogged teetotalism and regardless alcoholism. Its sparkling water and dark past. Its greedy bankers and lonely accountants. Its lavender Whiteleys and pink Olleys. Its humidity and its busters. Its runaways and stay-at-homes. Its fractured iPhones and trash e-books. Its gargantuan fig-trees and impeccable frangipanis. Its cappuccino sandstone and cocoa brickwork. Its weekday crowds and rococo buskers. Its shrill endeavours and brash announcements. Its melancholy May and brilliant September. Its power shoulders and instant costumes. Its limitless liners and daywear dinghies. Its smelly bus stops and flotsam quays.