Thursday, October 22, 2009

Friday, October 9, 2009

Tuesday, October 6, 2009

His name was Bushie


His name was Bushie. He introduced himself as we walked in opposite directions. I thought he wanted something from me but he just wanted to chat. He carried with him his swag, for sleeping where he can, and a sack of belongings. He's working on a crocodile leather vest. Been working on it a few months already, it's looking good. He's learning to play the banjo. He showed me a photo of his banjo in a campsite he'd set up. He said the banjo was a happy instrument, you can't play a dirge on a banjo. He had his digital camera with him, filled with fond memories and beautiful places. He also had a picturebook, with photoprints of his favourite photos from over the years. One photo of him when he was probably half his current age, sitting on a varnished driftwood throne with a 2L stubby of NT Draught. I told him if he made a few copies of it as postcards, he'd probably be able to sell them to the people he met. He liked the idea.
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