Drunken aspects of the broken bottle appear not to have infiltrated the glossy sheen of the recently erected architectural landscape of the harbour line of Sydney. A shiner of an example would be that of Pyrmont, nestled on one of the areola of the breasts of the udder of Sydney. One agent was sent out to the suburb known famously for something that cannot at this time be recalled due to the stench of fish and hormonal secretions of the crabs.
In what could only be considered complacency of security the exercise discovered a confliction of perception and respect to the surrounds. The cited took witness to the reality that lined one such artery known as Mount Street.
On one side, a carpark lined to the nines with barbed wire and shards of glass sprinkled atop the perimeter to keep in the hideously new horseless carriages in check and encaged.
While on the other, doors to cloned homes left unlocked and ajar. The time was 11 o'clock in the warm heat of day and the day itself was stationed at the start of yet another meandering week. A door was knocked to the reception of none. The scene inside resembled that of a disorganised rally gearing up for a revue of 'The Omega Man.'
Eye witnesses were none to be found and much should be considered for such a daylight caper in the near future.
Written on Wednesday, 14 May 2003