I had a dream last night that I was flying above Sydney.
I came in from the harbour and soared over Woolloomooloo.
I wanted to fly home to my bed but the wind was strong and my wings weren't powerful enough. So I glided downwards where I was protected by tall buildings and I flew along the streets back towards Darlinghurst, round the bend of Cowper Wharf Road, over Wylde and on up to William Street.
It was a strange flight.
The streets were deserted and looked more like they had been torn from the pages of a three-dimensional street directory.
Darlinghurst did not look the same.
Many buildings were missing and there were deep holes in the ground.
Many buildings were missing and there were deep holes in the ground.
My apartment had vanished, so I flew on, looking for signs of life.
Even at Central Station and Hyde Park there was no one to be seen.
So I flew back towards the harbour, from where I had come; over the Opera House I flew and continued on out towards the Pacific Ocean.
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