A Town in Tasmania

Over cast weather greys the skies, a dismal town. Cars can be seen parked in the streets, reflecting the current mood. Tiny specs of light shine into the nights sky faintly illuminating the dull surroundings. Petrol born clouds hang low over the roof tops, coughing brought on by its presence. The sight of frequent mobs walking the streets at night, nothing better to do. This desolate place takes you away from real detailed things, real people. One could get lost here, forget where they were from and join the crowds of empty faces. This place is void of all things that bring a r.2 adiance of life, everything feels dull, even the corners of the fresh laid bricks.

The petrol station, a fine example of modern youth rage. Two cars parked, doors open with things on the car, people on the car, blood on the car. Another fight going on while I sleep off these dull moments. Me, I live not far from these events of drunken fights and wandering people, my house past the old motorbike store and left at the circle detour (round-about ). An over grown fence obscures my house from people passing by, my cloak of invisibility to the town youth. A run-down yellow shed shows the end of the drive way, wooden benches and tools spread out inside. Years of abuse has left this once new basket-ball hoop standing on a lean, one wheel missing. Uncut grass pokes through our neighbour’s fence, the mower entangled in the lawn.

The neighbour’s porch light on, late at night, screaming, and another fight. A rusted chainsaw left in view of the light, highlighting things with no real value. I don’t know my neighbours really well, because of where we are. Don’t talk to strangers; don’t wander alone at night our parents preached. When you live here, you generally keep indoors and to yourself. People pass you by with thoughts only extending as far as their eyes can see. If you stare long enough at one of them, you can catch it as well, the indescribable boredom of this town.