The sun was sinking behind the city skyline and, being weary, I was simply not fast enough to catch that stunning woman as she walked into Forbes-And-Burton. It is a grand little cafe, on the Darlinghurst ridge, immediately before the tumble down into East Sydney. All these inner city areas are pocket-handkerchiefs.
They are still over there, nattering, fiddling with their hair, occupying a table for yonks with only a coffee a piece. And here I am over beside the out-of-view National Art School, which began life as the Darlinghurst Gaol.
They pay no matter as I sidle back in their general direction, except this time looking along Burton Street in the general direction of St Vincent's Hospital, along the route of the 389 bus.
Whereas Kings Cross is sleazy, Darlinghurst is merely shabby. I have just moved GPs, from Edgecliff to Darlinghurst. Feel more comfortable with shabby than with spic'n'span.