Clouds and the smell of seaweed hang over Collaroy. — Not Not Looking

Clouds and the smell of seaweed hang over Collaroy. — Not Not Looking

Clouds and the smell of seaweed hang over Collaroy. The air is cold and a breeze drives it into every gap. Cars stop at the lights. A truck leads them off again with a tired roar of carcinogens. Two people walk past; the man says nothing, loudly, and they walk into the club. On the next seat along, a woman huddles in her track suit. A bicycle comes up and the rider's eyes are cold with rebellion, with challenge and mockery. He dawdles, searching…