ODE TO DARWIN
I struggle along Mitchell Street with my backpack and calico bag. My whole life in these two bags. It is a hot cunt of a day, too. I see the Salvation Army sign and breathe a sigh of relief. I walk slowly into what looks like the office and start giving my sob story, but the grey-haired man in the uniform says, “Hang on, friend, this is the hostel, we have weekly rates.”
“Oh. What… the…”
“It’s okay, you want the welfare office. It’s just through the door, back out into the under-croft, turn right, take a seat, someone will be with you eventually.”
Eventually. I don’t like the sound of that. But the under-croft is cool and the office cooler. I put my things down and wait, staring at the closed door with Welfare written across it. A half-hour goes by and another man, tall,
