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.
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.