When the call is done, I pause outside Porter's room.
A deep breath.
A simple knock.
“Coming,” he says.
When it opens, a whiff of Lynx trails out the door.
As if this man needs help being attractive.
“Need anything at Coles while we're down there?” he asks.
“Coles?”
“Groceries,” he explains. “Kitchen usually feeds us, but not on Mondays.”
“Like IGA?”
I’ve been to the one in Longreach.
“Kind of. But way bigger.”
“Do they sell cornflakes?”
“Yep. And I've got a tiny fridge in my room if you wanna stash milk or beer.”
It will never be beer.
That’s my least favourite smell.
“Let me find my wallet,” I say.
???
I’ve never seen anything like it.
A footpath suspended above the water.
Concrete on stilts, sturdy enough for pedestrians and cyclists.
Towers loom overhead, dotted along the shore.
A bridge shaped like an M spans from one curve to another.
Nature laps at the edge of the hustle and bustle.
“Nothing like the river I'm used to,” I admit.
Keeping one hand inside my pocket, I finger a loose coin.
Must have slipped from its pouch.
But it helps to ease my nerves.
“Heard you were from Longreach,” he says. “Didn't know they had a river.”
I like the sound of being from Longreach.
