It is pretty easy to identify young country and interstate visitors to town – they wear last years fashion and overdress. Whether it be sassy, gothic or plain old top bloke gear, lots do it, God love 'em.
That's why I stopped for a fella in the rain, laden with bags and running across the road for the cab. He presented as an out-of-town visitor, rather than some grifter likely to waste my time with a hard luck story: ”They pinched me fuckin' keycard, eh!”
He was full of thanks for 'the rescue' as no one would stop, loaded the bags then sat up front. We headed for a cheap hotel, off Oxford St, via Kings Cross.
Around 30 years old he wore new clobber - an almost retro, inner-city, black ensemble with a hint of cowboy – and had just arrived from Cairns, escaping a broken dream. Via Kings Cross...