An ancient woman sits motionless inside the cafe, her expression alternating between vacant stare and angry glare. Her walking stick is ready to make a move but she’s asleep now, her chin resting on her chest.

A young woman wears a crocheted pouch in front. Two small feet poke out the bottom, with a hint of striped leggings.

A boy and a girl cross the square, on unrelated trajectories, with their respective mothers. At precisely the same instant, on opposite sides of the square, both children squeal with excitement and begin to run.

As the bus rolls through Dee Why a grey-bearded Sikh is striding along the opposite footpath. He wears a white robe, long white trousers pulled in at the ankle and a yellow backpack. As we move in opposite directions his head turns to follow the bus, and I feel like I’m under a microscope.

A sound like the wind swells to become an engine drawing close then switching off. Thunder cracks, right outside the window, as the Dinosaur dumps rubble into an empty truck.

Rain is falling. A young woman walks with a hand raised, sheltering her nose.

A man climbs the ramp with a rolling gait, as if he’s recently had both knees replaced. He carries a shopping bag and a bunch of flowers. A woman in her 30s moves up behind, prepares a smile in case their eyes should meet, and accelerates past. She has orange shorts and good strong legs.

A Japanese woman stops at the edge of the cafe, apparently teaching her little daughter to wave. She demonstrates, with a cheery greeting, bends down to instruct, and the child copies her. The woman turns the girl towards a different point, and the sequence repeats. I look over my shoulder to where they’re waving, but there’s no one there.

They leave without saying goodbye.

In the middle of the rain-puddled square a toddler falls on its hands and knees. Its mother smiles, then laughs and runs to accept a coffee from a friend.

The B1 is in a mad hurry, tearing along Pittwater Road like there’s no tomorrow. Storm clouds are gathering, and it’s all just a wee bit apocalyptic.

A chihuahua trots past the shops in Collaroy, owning the footpath. 🐶

Piglet, the Portaloo, is once again completely surrounded by water.

Aggie read with all her being,
but she didn’t need to squawk,
So she wasn’t like those other girls
who are because they talk.

Sascha Martin’s Aliens: an unpublished adventure

A woman in leopard-print pants pulls a leopard-print shopping trolley past the cafe. An old man shuffles after her, three paces behind, head down and eyes locked on the wheels. He alters course with the trolley, as if it’s pulling him along.

Safe above freshly hung political posters, a young man relaxes on a balcony. He’s playing guitar with his back to the street and someone, sitting opposite, moves her dangling foot in time to the music.

A young bloke leans on a pillar out of the rain, holding a single long-stemmed rose.

A polite elderly woman enquires about routes to the Dee Why Grand, and the conversation turns to her love of coffee.

Me: There’s a place inside the Grand …

Polite elderly woman: No. They make shit coffee.

A woman speaks loudly but indistinctly on the phone. Then she announces, in a tone of surprise and very clearly: “I’ve lost confidence.”

It’s raining in Sydney, and the outdoor cafe has become a pedestrian thoroughfare.

🐶 A dog called Tilly 🐕‍🦺