Before I moved South, the young people I often worked with in remote communities in Central Australia would listen to local Indigenous musos singing in the many languages of the Territory over whitefella stuff any day.
My Blood holds a special kind of understanding between Kira and I. I have texted her some of the lyrics when she’s been at school some days.
Though you'll never admit it to anyone and always bemoan the fact that the song is being played in your club, you somehow enjoyed it.
Fiction by Tom Lodewyke Eazy-Clean Laundromat, Sydney, 2015 Steven checked his phone. Nothing. Sometimes Rachel still texted him when there was no way around it. He craved the loud bling of his message tone. He was careful not to reply straight away, though.