Newtown south eats bacon

Past Camden St where my second cousin Roy, blind, died after a fall. Park somewhere down Holt St because it’s before 10am and a clearway on King. Judy rings, “I’ve been given four tickets to the Swans.” Cool. Walk with one eye on passersby, other eye on shops, cafes. Leaking water at a building site with workmen and mobiles. Coffee store ‘Once-was-Allegro-now-is-Sacks’ is open. Purchase many Marogagype beans. Sales women smells the beans before sealing the coffee. “It’s a beautiful tasting coffee”. Cappuccino to go, one sugar.

 More prams, ipods, bags on shoulderstraps, with smug glances as if to say, “we are so cool”. Light brown sports coat with check pattern sprawled across the footpath, no one in it. Few splotches of red blood nearby. Fairly normal. Catch the smell of bacon. Must be all the cafes serving breakfast. “Isn’t bacon too mainstream for Newtown south?” Past the Sandringham. Laurie’s nearly always there when I pass but it’s too early today, though not for some. Still smelling bacon as I round on to Holt. “That’s ridiculous.” Blonde woman pushing a pram, talking on mobile. Old woman sitting on a low wall, glancing at me, with a green bag, resting.  There was only one space on this narrow street when I arrived but now all the cars are gone. Off to work, just like Blacktown. Easier to manoeuvre now.

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