everybody notices the strange, everchanging weather. nobody mentions the change of month. nobody acknowledges autumn.
cyclists start wearing ice cream tubs. pedestrians don their sunglasses. you protect ourselves from the birds, but never fight them. they were here first. you know your place.
the ground is so parched that it trips you just for a taste of liquid. any liquid will do. there are more scabbed knees in the summertime.
the warnings of ‘road slippery when wet’ makes you wonder what happened on this road to call for such signs, and why you’ve never heard of any incidents involving such conditions on the news.
nobody stops the train for the kilometres of bushland and desert towns that the railway line runs through. nobody wants to know what would happen if the train stops. somebody is waiting at one of the stops. the driver ignores them.
the beach is flocked year long, no matter the weather, despite the heat. the coast is populated. the desert and deserted in the centre of the continent is never talked about. you live in silent fear, worried what lives in woop woop will eventually reach the coast.