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Red sails in the sunset

Tasty.

He looks up, and notices a vibrant red sunset that turns everything blood red.

Realises it’s an image captured in an Asian sweatshop.

The iconic image of a man with a conical hat on a bamboo raft somehow reflecting the essence of sunshine at the end of a day while also capturing the eerie sadness of a lifestyle that no longer exists. 

It seems to be fitting that the image sits on a brick wall in a rented suburban home.

The home sits in a suburb where fruit orchards used to be. Now its surrounded by other brick palaces, rented from a Chinese capitalist.

Like the man in the conical hat, he senses the faint echoes of an impossible suburban dream. 

Stoically he cradles fading Sunday afternoon memories as the last rays of the sun disappear below the metaphorical horizon at the end of a day in an era long ago. 

Tomorrow is Monday. Back to work.

A fan hisses in the background, stirring the warm humid air from late afternoon inertia. Fingers tap on the keyboard as thunder rumbles.

Smiles as he recalls the story he told to his son in thunderstorm season. It’s just a cloud coughing.

Wet drops of condensation, forming on a cold drink, roll down the side of the can.

Lightening crackles close now, creating bright bursts.

Shadows shivering, dancing, as shapes dance across the faded wall.

Birds scream and dive, seeking shelter from the storm.

Trees thrash their leaves wildly, moshing their branches in the gusting wind.

Pool toys chatter excitedly, and one reaches out to ride the gale. 

All gasp as it sails over the fence. Even swollen, pink pool toys long for the freedom of the open air.

Escaping a watery desert for a moment of freedom, they are soon impaled on the neighbour’s clothesline, and flutter angrily like a ridiculous faded fluorescent flag.

Thus goes a sticky Sunday summer afternoon on the east coast of Australia.

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