This better be good, Bev, says Rocket. Essential business.

Don’t shit me, she says. I’ve just lost every booking for eight months. And now I have to tell my permanents to go.

Rules, says the Constable.

Yeah rules. I got two with nothing, and with nowhere to go…

Dot and Carl.

I’m letting ’em stay.

Shit, Bev.

Shit nothing. I need your word.

My blind eye.

You said it, not me.

Or some kind of exemption

Yeah. Maybe. But if you go official on me and fuck it up…

A blind eye. Look the other way. Bloody bureaucracy.

Thanks Rocket.

I didn’t say…

Thanks Rocket.


By the time Bev gets back to the caravan park the redgums along the creek have filled with corellas. Thousands of ’em maybe. Even more than usual. Bev doesn’t mind the reviled birds. They make their presence felt. They understand they’re strength is collective. Maybe she wouldn’t feed them old bread the way Dot does, but right now she has other things to worry about.

      – RH

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