out and about

The bus is so crowded that six people flout the rule against standing on the upper deck. Leaning on the stair rail, a man explores a woman’s waist with his fingers. She pats his bottom.

A man walks past the Bathers sales office in Collaroy. He’s a stocky man in his 30s wearing a brown jacket, a brown cap, brown shorts, and a backpack with attachments that sway as he walks. The outside of his calf is black with tattoos, like an abyss.

A tall young woman in black breaks into a run, and her wrists fly out to the sides.

A worried woman stands by the bus stop pole at the edge of the footpath. She has a scarf wrapped round her hair, is plump, and wears an off-green t-shirt with black pants that conceal her shoes. The t-shirt is snagged in the waistline and hitched up at the side. In front of the woman stands a blue shopping trolley. Its wheels are white with blue centres, and a cloth bag is looped over the handle. The bag is purple but the strap looped over is orange. The woman holds her fingertips together, fidgeting.

Beside the tracks is a waterlogged paddock, an island of grass, and a grazing horse.

Paddocks climb towards the forest near Otford, and horses graze by the fence.

An island, some metres in length, stands in the Cooks River near Wolli Creek. Just beyond it, two sunlit pelicans stand in the water.

Approaching Town Hall Station: a man heads for the stairs with an evil laugh, pressing a phone to his ear.

A girl sits vacant-eyed on the train, chin in hand, fingers splayed, little finger resting on her lips.

An entity rises in the seat beside me, as my fellow-traveller struggles into her rain jacket.

In Neutral Bay, a cafe window showcases two fat croissants, and the couple sitting down to eat them.

Each time a passenger stands to leave the bus, a child’s voice at the back calls: ‘Bye bye!’

Above a shopfront awning on Pittwater Road, a cardboard carton sags through a broken window. The edges of the glass are covered with tape.

A fragment of sunshine hits the bus queue in Dee Why, and every raindrop is a shaft of light.

An older man grins and shouts across Lyons Road in Drummoyne, moving his arm in a huge, exaggerated wave. He forms his hands into a camera shape and snaps a finger down, then drops his arms and laughs.

Across the road, a second older man emerges from behind a parked car, head down, forearm lifted in reluctant acknowledgement. He enters the car, shuts the door and drives away.

A small girl stands on the foot platform of a pram, facing forwards and reaching an arm above the roof. She talks and makes slow, considered movements with her hand, as if explaining a difficult concept.

A blue cattle dog crosses the road on a lead. A ruler-straight line runs down the centre of its face and muzzle, and everything on one side is black.

A woman with short grey hair stands rapping a hand against her thigh as she watches the traffic. She has short grey hair and a yellow ochre dress with matching bag. One eyebrow is up, and her face implies that nothing good will come of this.

A small boy makes a break for it, running flat out through Triangle Park in Dee Why. His mother thunders after him, spectacles awry and sandals slapping on the concrete. At the edge of the road she catches him, and they cross together.

Three families are off to the Easter Show on a day that promises rain. A girl arrives at the stop in rabbit ears, hopping and grinning. Another breaks into a spontaneous dance. Above such childish things, a young teen swishes crisp, flared trouser hems bare millimetres from the ground, ready to wow those farmyard animals in the mud.

A young man, blonde, wears a briar thicket of dreadlocks at the back of his cap. He has a black umbrella.

A woman brings her emotional baggage onto the bus, in a labelled shoulder bag.

Bicycles hang like bats on a Dee Why balcony.

Trapped in a stroller on the bus, a child throws back her head and strains against the harness, threatening to eject her new blue dummy. She wears a pink top, multi-coloured leggings, and brown pigtails touching her jaw.

She twists to the side. The dummy’s about to blow when a phone appears in her hands and she looks down at the screen. Her body relaxes. One hand rises to clasp a pigtail between thumb and forefinger and remains there, twisting a strand, pulling gently.

The dummy stirs in thoughtful sucks.

A man rides an electric scooter through Triangle Park in Dee Why. He wears a t-shirt and thongs and light, baggy boxers patterned with spots. They flap in the wind. His daughter, standing in front with hands between his on the handlebar, is a black-haired, skinny nine-year old in blue tracksuit pants and a red top. Her fringe is straight and her eyes are deep, and dark, and everywhere.