she’s slouching in the shade on the sagging metal bench outside the servo caf waiting for what the bus might bring the only bus, the city bus waiting to see who might stumble down the steps, eyes shaded from the glare with the hand that should be holding on to the step rail

she’s waiting, the bus is late, she’s cleaning grubby nails with her skinning knife sliding the shell holder from back to side for a decent lean on the cool metal wall, bracing the 12 gauge shotgun upright off the gritty cement with her boot she pulls the Tally Ho paper off her lip without bringing half her face with it

she knows her visitor is a fancy, unlikely and unexpected, chimera of the city and her imagination

this visitor being a visitor so far out of her comfort zone the galahs will be shrieking at her face tense with the stress, reddening from the heat her soft cotton trousers already

sticking uncomfortably into every available bodily crease and angle
and no believable cover-story for what this visitor might conceivably be doing on this visit…

waiting, dreaming, looking for a girl-friend in that river town, border town is as futile as looking for shade under a baobab tree as unlikely as halting the invasion of cane toads by scaring their tadpoles