Melbourne, 1956

Melbourne reeks of eucalyptus. A fragrance that makes you sneeze. A yellow tree, wattle hanging so low it smacks you in the face as you stroll by, unconcerned. Big open parks with dirty pigeons picking at the shit on the concrete, and the deep suburbs flowing with a sea of mixed migrants. Cranes shadow over the main strip where the butcher throws off cut meats at the stray dog strolling by. Cranes, suggesting  development is about to blow. Cranes. A sign of construction, growth of a suburb, jobs in the industry, prosperity! prosperity! prosperity! for the new arrivals. 

‘That’ll be .55 cents, love’. She smiles at him, takes the bottle of milk, and skips out onto the road.