The cab has air con.
It’s bigger than the car I sat in that one time.
That day when my friend's mum took us out to the farm to get eggs.
“Seatbelt,” the man says, pointing toward the strap.
I pull it across my chest and click it into place.
The simple motion feels strange.
We roll slowly out of the concrete bay and turn left onto the road.
Houses drift past the window, lights glowing inside some as people begin to wake.
I know the names and faces of most of them.
This has been my only world for as long as I can remember.
Good riddance to that pub.
I vow that I will never lay eyes on it ever again.
It all looks so foreign from the other side of this glass.
As though I’m behind a protective shield.
And then, no more Jundah.
Nothing but dirt.
An endless narrow road stretches ahead toward the horizon.
Two suns begin to rise.
One in front of me, and one inside me.
Because for the first time in my life, I’m following these power lines.
Just as I’ve always dreamed of doing.
???
It feels as though I’ve been pulled from a rip tide, vulnerable and weak.
I’ve tried to keep my head above water for so damn long.
I press my forehead lightly against the cool glass.
An unknown landscape unfurls in front of me.
Ragged fence posts.
Rusty cattle gates.
Flood signs stand crooked beside the highway.
This outside world has existed even longer than I have.
