A Walk

It is last week. No, it is this week, but it is last Thursday. Or is it last Wednesday? No, because one of us is carrying the empty shoebox. It is Thursday.

We are walking to the Kmart. It is cloudy. There are hundreds of gumnuts on the footpath. They act like ball bearings, but they look like little chocolate cups.

If they were made of chocolate, they wouldn't act like ball bearings. They would simply be crushed underfoot. The smell of chocolate would waft upwards. That would be nice. But the chocolate would stick to the bottom of our shoes.

We are talking. Do your new shoes hurt? No, not yet.

The seed pods from the jacaranda trees look like dragons' mouths, or double slices of dried yam.

In the car park near the bins the ground is littered with paper, and something that looks like a glamorous high heeled shoe. It is red and purple and silver, but strangely crumpled. It isn't a shoe. It is a screwed-up foil bag for keeping a cooked chicken hot in.