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A line of school kids in mufti walks down from Battle Boulevard at the Spit. One girl is a beetle with her jacket over a backpack, and two boys at the end wear ribbed, bright yellow carapaces.
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Social Climbing, Manly Wharf

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With Ukraine so gamely resisting,
Russia’s ship of aggression is listing.
As the vessel goes down,
Some abandon, some drown,
And a little tsar’s neck gets a twisting. -
Practice
Practice on a Pest

March Photoblog Challenge Day 31
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Wild and Succulent

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In his bubble, with those who agree,
Vladimir Vladimirovich P
Gives a shrug at Bakhmut:
‘They’re just fodder on foot.
All that matters to history is me.' -
A tall young woman at Collaroy, elegant in a long, black, sleeveless dress and wearing her dark hair piled high, walks to the crossing with a white cord swinging in her hand. She swaps a tablet to her other hand and presses the pedestrian button.
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A young woman struggles out to the footpath with the Adult Novelties sign.
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A small girl dances by a pram, toes turning and heels swinging back and forth.
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A man in dark blue clothing reaches the bus stop, out of breath. He wipes his mouth, grinning foolishly as he watches the two B1s pull away.
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Two B1s arrive in convoy at Warringah Mall, and half the queue makes a break for the second bus. One of the breakaways, a woman in a black mask, stops suddenly and glances up at each top deck in turn. Decision made, she runs.
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A man cleans the Hungry Jack’s sign with a broom that spouts water. The water misses, sailing up over the sign and arcing down to the driveway.
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Spit Road, Mosman. An orange, transparent, spiky ball sits among bark chips at the base of a wire fence.
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Mirror
The Shop in the Mirror

March Photoblog Challenge Day 30
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For Putin, a cease-fire’s appealing -
His war of aggression is reeling;
But Ukraine will control
All its territory, whole,
Ere it stops for a scone and Darjeeling. -
Slice
A slice of our beautiful coastline

March Photoblog Challenge Day 29
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Just past the Anzac Bridge, a network of vast steel pylons has been driven into the water.
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A tall, slender woman walks past the theatre. She has long blonde hair, a loose blue top and skinny black trousers. Her hands sway with the movement of her elbows, and each contains a white-topped something. She brings the left one to her mouth, and drinks.
Entering a driveway, she rests her cup on the roof of a blue car parked rear-on to the street. Lights flash and she opens the passenger door. She sits sideways in the vehicle, feet on the driveway, cup beside them, one elbow on a knee with the second white-topped object lifted so she can see inside. Fingers delve. Her hand goes up to her mouth. She chews.
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Four Japanese women stand in the wind, sentinels at the four corners of a covered pram.
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A four-year-old strides across the road with his mother, swinging his one free hand with enormous energy.
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A woman crosses at the lights with her stroller, crests the footpath and engages two similar women with similar strollers. All three adopt matching grins of many teeth, and crinkly-cheeked gazes of sunshine and joy, accompanied by an array of high-pitched sounds that no one could possibly disentangle. The waiting two hone in on the just-arrived stroller, directing their eyes, teeth and noise in that direction.
Appalled, but aware of its obligations, the baby grins back at them.
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Voices on a bus.
Girl 1 : ‘Know what I mean?’
Girl 2: ‘Not really. Like …’ (long, inaudible mumble)
Girl 1: ‘Exactly!’
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At St Leonards a man lumbers down the stairs and sits facing me. He pulls his mask away from his mouth and drapes it under his chin. Why?
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Movement at the Beach

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Is anyone e’er so reviled
As one who would murder a child?
And could there be any
Who’ve murdered as many
As Putin, as so far compiled?