“That'll be four fifty, then.”
“Two... three... four... here's five,” I say, tipping the coins into his palm.
“You having a laugh?” the guy says.
He does not look amused.
“Four fifty as in four hundred and fifty dollars. That'll get you to Brisbane and back.”
“Fourhundredand fifty dollars? For a bus ride?”
“And you'll need to book online with a credit card.”
I feel nauseous.
My head begins to spin.
“But I don't want to come back,” I tell him. “I never want to come back.”
“Then it'll be roughly two hundred and thirty for a one way ticket.”
I’m too gutted to ask anymore questions.
So I mumble a thank you and wander aimlessly toward the library.
???
Stepping through the door, the air con is a much needed comfort.
Row after row of books.
Hundreds of them, all at my fingertips.
Brisbane must have libraries as tall as that water tower, maybe even bigger.
Slipping the heavy backpack from my shoulders, I hide it underneath a table.
Browsing the shelves, I almost forget where I am, who I am, and what just happened.
Almost.
Making a small pile of favourites, I spend a good few hours on that beanbag.
Perhaps this can be my new life for a while.
Sleep beneath the stars at night, read books during the day.
What will I do for food though?
Reading snacks are important.
So is showering.
I really haven’t thought this through.
The woman behind the front desk keeps looking at me funny.
Should have washed my face earlier.
