City Talks

We're in the white elephant Rococo Town Hall and people are standing to speak by the microphones but there's barely a question among them. Armfield quotes Winton, slams the state government and loses his place in the glow of applause. Linehan quotes Chekov and Winterson. He's careful not to criticise because he's not from here. Macgregor quotes her London art world friends. The domain looks like a Whitelely. The curve of the Eastern Distributor is luminous in a blue January dusk and forming the nude's languid arm.

By the time the MC is humouring the last speaker from the floor my head is resting on the back of the chair in front and I'm thinking: what if it's as simple as you get what you deserve? That's definitely a question.

The lights above are turned off alternately and near the stage. There's a yellow rhinoceros attached to a wall, walking along a wall, and I think of one of the visual artists from WA, and Ionesco.

Outside The Orient the smoker notes Noonie's red galoshes, then we're in the holding room thinking about rosso vino and wondering why they don't serve food out here. Gina's shoulder is cold and she has her jacket on only one arm.

It's a very Sydney story. Lanfranchi. Sydney Opera House. Armfield in his house with a dog called Kevin. I imagine the floorboards of the verandah.

The man at the next table says he does want children but he still has his office security pass strung around his neck. I want to tell him that it's limiting his chances of finding a mate.