|Sydney's notorious Kings Cross.|
We were working together as lowly servicemen for the service centre of a major European car-dealership in a posh north-shore suburb of Sydney. Every weekday from 8 to 4 we put the expensive cars up the hydraulic-hoists, change the oils and replace the filters, re-inflate and re-balance the wheels, rotate the tyres, replace the worn brake-pads, and wash and polish the cars as the final touch after other mechanics have done the tune-ups and other jobs on the cars. Easy job and money was not that bad. At least three hundred bucks a week in the pocket with regular overtimes. A bit more than the minimum wage then.
|Kings Cross in Sydney.|
|Kings Cross Subway Station.|
As I stood there holding a Foster stubby in one hand and watching the cops and the drunks, the aggressive copper woman with extendable truncheon in one hand rudely ordered me to move on. Instead of moving on I just backed away a couple of steps just to please her. And there I stepped on the feet of a young woman. Sorry, I turned round and apologized and there she was. A pretty Aussie girl smiling at me.
Disgusted, I put my jeans and sneakers back on and left the room.
The Scourge of Burma - Part 1
The Scourge of Burma - Part 4