Up the park end of Bondi, across from the bus depot on the north-south axis, and the Hotel Nelson on the east-west axis, stands the shop of many guises. This time last year, it housed antiques. Maybe less antique, than simply old. And battered. But, now its hour has come round again; its Warholian slice of limelight, in this month of 21 stages of the most onerous of world sports.
I admired, and then plodded on, across the highway overpass, pulling my cadee filled with cat food.