Harbour town
It’s tricky navigating through life being a writer. There’s never enough time and there are always too many interruptions. Here’s the quandary. Scenario: you’re in Sydney, on holiday with your family. You’ve been to Sydney before, on your own. You loved it. At the time, you breathed in the atmosphere of Circular Quay as you looked out at the Harbour Bridge and Opera House; let it fill your lungs with vibrant life, as office workers and tourists tussled for a place in the queue for a cappuccino or ferry. You sat on a seat and took it all in. You watched people walk past, drink their coffee, take photos. You listened to their conversations. You noted what they wore. And every now and again you saw how the sun glanced off the water, the bridge behind, standing there like a wise old man. You could hardly breath. You wanted to capture this moment – so you could always relive it – not let it slip away. You took a ferry to Manly. You sat outside on the top deck. Your hair flew behind you as