Twelve years ago, I had a job as a one man helpdesk for a small insurance firm right next to Luna Park. The pay was so poor, I remember sitting in Bradfield Park debating whether I could afford a pie or a vanilla slice. Judiciously. I chose the vanilla slice and spent my lunch hour sitting on the grass, gumming up the pages of a volume on Alexander the Great I was wolfing down, and feeling that perfectly strange Sydney autumn air on my face.
I wonder what the person who now owns that book with those stuck-together pages must think of me?
Under the bridge...
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