ERROL PARKER | Editor-at-large | Contact
As the D45 bus from the French Quarter meandered its way through Betoota Heights and down to the Old City like the pathetic River Torres, a local city worker looked out the window at the trees and people flashing by and wondered when her ship would come in.
Sam Spears, who does something in an office with a computer for a giant multinational that ultimately sees her as a dispensable commodity, also wondered if the contents of that ship will justify the effort it takes to make one’s ship come in.
She recounted her thoughts to our reporter this afternoon in the smoking pokies at the Betoota Dolphins Leagues Club.
“I can’t believe it’s almost December, what the fuck am I doing with my life?” thought the popular but ultimately directionless 29-year-old.
“What even is my job? Does it contribute to society in anyw ay? Or am I just making my bosses richer? Maybe I should quit everything and move somewhere new,”
“Where I can continue to feel like this as the big 30 comes around. But I haven’t got any money to do that. I need help. Or do I? Maybe I’ve just got a bad case of the Mondays. I did go pretty hard. I just don’t get it.”
Sam then put her cigarette out on Pelican Pete’s face and went back into the bar.
More to come.