Day 78, Zanders, Scarborough

Work.
I passed last nights test shift so now I’m enjoying my reward of running around carrying plates of mouth watering food and demolished portions.
All the smells from the kitchen and coffee have mingled into a general food smell; I’m no longer hungry. A storm’s roaring outside, blowing the plastic screens in the outside section in and splashing rain onto the tables.

Day 77, Napier St, Perth

Gardening again.

This time I’m pulling out weeds and raking mulch into their place in a shaded alley at the back of the garden. The sun’s warming my head and shoulders but ignoring the rest of my body, welcome in the midday heat. I can hear birds tweeting sporadically, quiet for minutes after each shovel into the gravel tears through their chorus. I can smell the compost through its shut lid, everywhere I look another weed seems to poke its head through the dry woody soil. My mouth still tastes metallic from sucking at the blister that’s formed pre-popped between my thumb and fingers. I sing inside my head and am aware of my own happiness.

Day 76, Napier St, Cottersloe, Perth

I’m weeding a friend’s garden for cash, my hands sore and a blister developing from repetitive sweeping. The sun’s warm on my hair and back, pleasant, not to hot to work though. I’ve just drunk a near cold cup of tea and can still taste it in my mouth. Even after sweeping for two hours leaves are falling and coating the paving. The sight of them makes me anxious.
The remaining plants smell fresh and slightly herbal but not a patch on the lilies that sit on the kitchen counter.

Day 75, Cottersloe beach, Perth

It’s taken a while to get moving this morning but I’m finally at the beach and the surf looks pretty good. The sun’s warm on the bare skin of my back and the heat intensifies the stench of seaweed. The smell, overwhelming and dirty at first quickly becomes supporting and natural. The stench of the sea. I’m excited and energetic, ready to get into the water. Coupled with the sounds of the waves and traffic, the trickling beach shower makes me need a wee. All the beaches here have beach showers, albeit cold and often water fountains too. Everywhere signs proclaim, “let only rain go down the drain, they go straight into the sea”.

Day 74, 400 bus, Scarborough to Perth CBD

I feel horribly nauseous, the bus is hot and stuffy and the smell of the dusty seat fabric gets right into my head. The windows seem to distort the city as it spins by us, wetter and wetter in the persistent rain, I’m thirsty, my mouth dry and sticky from my developing travel sickness.

Day 73, Western Beach Lodge Scarborough

I’ve been back at the mechanics all morning, leaning into the engine, sweaty and greasy. I’m now back in the kitchen with filthy hands and a slightly sore back inhaling the steam off a cup of tea. It tastes bitter and sharp, unsweetened it’s comforting and hot. My hands around it smell like strong gritty soap and slightly chemical from the mechanical oil and rags. I’m warm, equally so indoors and out

Day 72, All Autos’, Osborn Park

I’m standing in the open end of a garage and it’s pouring with rain outside. We’ve had storms all night on and off, now sun and then torrential rain and high winds. It smells like oil in here and wet concrete from outside. Occasionally someone tests an engine or shuts a door, breaking the rhythmical mechanical noises of people working. When the phone rings it’s amplified across the garage, shrill and distracting, I’m cold on my back where the rain’s soaked through my tee shirt to my back.

Day 71, Scarborough Beach

I love the beach and struggle with it at the same time, the constant dust from the sand and salt drying my fingers out, I constantly lick them to try to keep them moist. The result is worst case a stomach upset or at best I look like some sort of monkey. Much as I try to stop myself i can't seem to help it though. Todays as usual, i'm sitting there licking away, thinking that my saliva smells horrible but the salt tastes pretty good. As usual the waves crash down with backbreaking fury sending spray and surfers in all directions. I'll go and chance it too in a minute, even if just to keep me from my hands for a while.

Day 70, Scarborough Beach Road, Scarborough

This crossing disbles any ideas I have of personal safety before I approach it. The wait seems to be at least ten minutes (although probably much less), its definately far too long. A wide road to cross without and a fast one it becomes irresistable as we dash accross it, often barefoot and laden with surfboards, before the anxiety becomes too great. Today i'm waiting, for now, inhaling the thick smells of truck diesel and the leftover scar of a skid darkening the road and the air around it. Its noisy, car horns and screeching tires and somewhere beyond, just over the road heavy surf crashes.

Day 69, Kingsley, Perth

I've been visiting relatives a short drive north of the hostel. Its warm, the road clear and seemingly smoother than ever. The car's lovely and tidy although still smells a bit musty. My sunglasses are on the dash, reflecting the road behind like a second, darker rear view mirror.

Day 68, Stingray, Western Beach Lodge, Scarborough

I'm working up a bit of a sweat sorting the van out and taking the bed down. It's relaxing despite the job hunting to be staying in one place. It's dusty in here, everything I move seems to throw up more red road dust, tickling the inside of my nose. It smells familiar as I move our soft furnishings around. I miss it already. All around me are piles of our stuff, the more I tidy away the more seems to appear.

Day 67, Osborne Park, Perth

The job hunt takes me sweating in my jeans and thick black shirt to posh car salesrooms. Each one's the same, glass walled, over air-conditioned, even the cars barely change. That is except for this one, all shiny sports cars and huge four by fours.they smell like leather and car wax. It's cold in here but I'm sweating because of all the questions I'm being asked.

Day 66, Scarborough Beach, Perth

Job hunting again, this time close to our accommodation in the relaxed beachside suburb of Scarborough. I hover is the shade of a high rise hotel, trying to keep out if the persistent sun. I feel fresh and awake this morning, up at dawn for a surf, followed by a bracingly schizophrenic shower. My mouth's dry, my throat a little sticky, I forgot to bring my bottle of water out. The heavy waves thunder onto the beach menacingly, reminding me of my earlier fear when out in the, although the noise makes me want to get in again.

Day 65, Highway from Mount Barker to Perth

I think I could write a book on public toilets around Australia.

This one at a town rest stop is pretty good in that it's fully plumbed, more often than not they're long drop or dry (composting). Sometimes though it's the "wet" ones that smell and look the worst. This one encased in a low unlit concrete shell smelt of shit before I ever sat on it. I know better than to inspect the bowl now although an under seat bug check has become routine. It's cool in here, almost cold and the soothing wash of the next door urinal literally seeps in under the door.

Day 64, Denmark, WA

The small, picturesque town, set back slightly from the sea is alive with noise.

Overhead a banner declares "Denmark Voice Festival", and the dates of the current bank holiday weekend. We stand outside the bakery, inhaling the fumes of sweet cakes and meaty pies. Three people dance and sing, armed with a guitar, saxophone and the female vocalist, a baby. As the three sing, a slightly flat but energetic tune, he grabs at her, at air, joins in himself, smiling ecstatically from her back. It's sunny and warm, the atmosphere vibrant.

Day 63, Middleton Rd, Albony

It's one of those mornings where everything takes forever. Today all we needed was a computer and some Cd's to copy our files, yet where there was one there wasn't the other. Now after dashing through an overcrowded Woolworths to a warm slightly sweaty smelling car we have what we need. We're driving around windy steep suburban roads, I'm feeling increasingly anxious over lost time. The sunlight's reflecting all the objects on my dash, confusing our already confused route. We don't converse, just swap directions over the roaring of the engine struggling up and down hills.

Day 62, Rest Stop, Highway 1 - Towards Albany

Lunch on the road; today an extra large tin of beef soup as we skipped lunch yesterday. The road's completely concealed by a thick strip of trees as we sit on the track opposite our van as it cools off in the shade. It ticks quietly to itself.
Birds and flies and the quiet hiss of the gas stove are the only sounds bar the occasional roar of a vehicle on the road, bringing with it a cool wind that rustles the leaves. The food tastes good, wet and filling, always better when you're hungry. It smells different when cooked outside too, more wholesome somehow, the fresh scent of plants and occasional scent of gas mix together; a smell of camping. I'm bare chested again, sun hot on my skin and wind cooling me simultaneously.

Day 62, Observatory point, Esperance

From here you can see the small islands scattered around the area, clean white beaches and ever pulsing ocean. My hair's blown across my face and into my mouth with the strong winds, a reminder of how long its getting. It tastes salty, I've taken to chewing on the string of my necklace too, sucking the salt out and inevitably a lot of dirt and sweat. My skins slightly damp from the sea spray, I feel so alive and free, as if I could jump into the sea if it wasn't for the masses of rocks below and higher than usual shark threat.

Day 60, West Beach, Esperance

It feels so good to be back by the coast, rid of flies, to be able to hear the water and smell the salt. Unfortunately there's no surf today, tiny waves crashing over a small rock bar at the moment, a strong wind blowing them down heavily. A small dog barks nearby, almost being blown over in the gusts.

Day 59, Rest-stop, Eyre Highway, The Nullabore Plain WA

We've pulled over for a pee and something to drink, into a clearing of sparse bush a emergency telephone and a bin. I'm prowling the undergrowth looking for snakes but all I've found is a dead, empty lizard and about ten cartons of motor oil. I kick them, they don't move, heavy ad full of liquid, some of the seals unbroken. They're rusty, been here a while but why is a mystery, here in the middle of nowhere who'd leave all this oil and why?

As usual were hot and dusty, a bit sweaty, I can smell the sweat on myself and taste it as it drips into my mouth with each swig of plasticy water.

Day 58, The Nullabore Plain

Another hot day, more straight road.

It's littered with roadkill, mainly kangaroo's, some split into three sections, head, torso and tail, often metres and metres apart. Birds, crows and huge eagles feat on their carcasses, some crushed and torn, some rotten, some fresh, some no more than a blood spot on the tarmac. They take flight at the last possible moment as we thunder along the straight strip, soaring in front of our windscreen, too close, the eagles wingspan close to the width of our van. I can smell the engine, nothing unusual, nothing new, nothing wrong, yet. Up ahead water pools on the road, disappearing into nothing as we close in on it. I'm thirsty, my bottle empty until we pull over to fill it from the boxes weighing down the back of our van. I'm craving its warm nothingness.

Day 57, Nullabore Plain, SA

The road's poker straight through only shrubs and sandy ground. The sun's hot and unbroken through the windows but we have the air conditioning on as its cooler and less noisy. Well its colder than the air but not really cool. It drys my lips and hands slightly. We're listening to a talking book, the deep rich English accent seemingly echoing through our car and across the plain to the horizons on both sides. Little happens on the road but the risks are enough to keep you alert, we're miles away from any help or hospitals and the thundering road trains pull the air from under our wheels as they pass us.

Day 55, Back Beach near Streaky Bay, SA

"Leave only footsteps" the sign declares as the path meets the open beach, both light sand with very little transition between the two. We've driven down a rocky gravel track to search for some surf and also to leave some letters in the perfect sand. In my mind they count as footsteps and i hope to others also. We're inundated with flies, idly crawling all over my topless body, my eyes, mouth and nose. They have no interest in the tasty soy sauce flavoured noodles we're eating. Only me.

In the sea there are small waves, breaking over solid reef shelves, a pack of dolphins surf a clear green wave, suspended in the illuminated water. I'm hot and long to be in the water too once I've finished my lunch.

Day 54,Woolworths Port Augusta

More shopping. This time stocking up for our long trip across the Nullabore Plain. Our large trolley mainly comprises of large spring water boxes, tins and now we're trying to decide between a handful of different dryed pasta and sauces. In the end I think they all taste the same but we bicker over them anyway. The isles are cool, brightly lit, too bright, the fluorescents hurt my eyes and make me anxious. The tannoy seems almost constant as do the other shoppers with trolleys I always seem to be in the way of. I don't like shopping, especially when I'm so hungry. I could almost eat the smell around the bakery.

Day 53, The oldest church in SA, Adelaide

We've just walked from the searing heat of a glass blowing studio to the breezy streets of Adelaide and into a cool church. My body, clad in only a t-shirt prickles slightly with the fast cooling sweat. We've been enticed into a free tour of the church, the young woman taking us round is upbeat and informative. The church is neat, plain but with impressive stained glass windows shedding a relaxing half light into the lofty building. My lips taste of coffee, sweetened heavily with sugar. Inside the church is alive with voices, passionately discussing different aspects of the church and religion. It doesn't echo.

Day 52, Rundel St, Adelaide

Lunch. A large plate formerly containing a burger - Aussie style; egg, bacon, cheese etc and chips.We were starving enough to pay tourist prices for this filling meal. It always tastes better when you don't get to treat yourself too much and I'm thoroughly enjoying the salty taste of real tomato ketchup. Now its finished the food smells unpleasant, eggy and my burger sits like a rock in my stomach.

I ate too fast.

The street's busy, delivery trucks reverse, beep, drivers shout and the warm sunshine seems to animate people.

Day 51, Art Stretchers Co, Right Sq, Adelaide

We've just got into Adelaide,a small easily navigable city, and have left the van to the mercy of mechanics. It's a pleasant yet gray day, not cold, and we have time to kill and a city to see. The shop we're in now, just down the road from the garage is an art shop, one of my favourite snooping grounds. I've never buy anything, just moan about the lack of 3D materials, price, and gave in awe of all the colours of paint I'd never use. This shop smells just right, musty and dry at the same time, canvas and paint. It's cool, actually cold although there's no air con and many windows. Still it's near on dark.

Day 50, Aldinga Foreshore

I'm a little cold, there's a bracing wind and I've shed all my clothes bar a towel. The surf's not amazing but there is some and I haven't been out for days. My wetsuit smells appalling, dug out from the bottom of the boot where it lies half damp in a plastic bag. The sea's choppy, menacing although small and scattered with the small dark shapes of surfers like birds bobbing up and down. The wind blows salt into our faces and whistles occasionally off cars.

Day 49, Meningie, SA

Pastie and milk, lunch fit for a king.

We've pulled into a small roadside town on the hunt for some sweet pastry items, unfortunately nothing tempted us so we both went savoury. The pasties warm and flaky, dry against my lips, and the filling wholesome and tasty; not wet enough to run out as I'm driving. In contrast the milk I carefully pierced with a straw is going everywhere. It's miserable outside again, stormy off and on and the van smells of mud as well as our food. We were cold running into the hot bakery and out again but it's warm here out of the wind. The milk's freezing against my always sensitive but wholesome because it's actually good for me. Still they sting, I've given up eating ice cream altogether.

Day 48, Robe seafront

It's raining again. We're eating our lunch in the van, looking out across the choppy sea. It echoes holidays in England, not wanting to step out of the car for fear of getting wet and then cold. A group of gulls seems to be able to smell our 'meat lovers' barbecue through the windows and a couple sit menacingly on the wing mirrors. It tastes dry, mainly of tomatoes, but we're hungry so it goes down easily. The end's of my trousers are wet and cling to my ankles although they're warmed by the engine. Outside the window the gulls screech and run at each other, flapping into a frenzy when I tease them with a crust at the crack of the window.

Day 47, Port Fairy - a rocky point north of the lighthouse

We've driven slightly out of Port Fairy, the old western style town we camped at last night. Our continuous search for surf has yielded nothing suitable in the past few days. We've seen flat bays and menacing 15ft waves over sharp rock formations or shattering out to sea with a noise like gunfire. Today is big, heavily forming an unstable barrel across a rocky bay. A slight surfer gracefully tackles its steep, scary waves but we can't risk it. Two other surfers hover to the left, directly over rocks. I'm glad they don't paddle for anything. I desperately want to get it the water but know better, the salt spray stinging my face and almost feel their fear as it comes in big behind them. The noise of the waves carries over to us but the surfers are silent.

Day 46, Port Campbell

It's actually hot today, stuffy in the car although we haven't yet found a beach worthy of sitting/surfing on for a length of time. Port Campbell is pretty quiet, with a deep natural harbour, a jetty and a perfectly calm beach. Against the water an area of well kept green grass attracts travellers having their lunch picnics. People have low conversations as they eat, their words inaudible but the buzz of their chatter providing a warm alternative to the nearby road. I've just eaten a pie, salty and warm it's formed a hard knot in my stomach.

Day 45, Lorne Town Centre

We just asked about job vacancies, I wouldn't mind staying here longer and as money gets tighter and tighter it occupies more of our time. The weather's nice today, warm and bright, perfect for a day spent driving around the natural tourist attractions of the Great Ocean Road. The bakeries advertising for staff smell delicious, making me want one of their large pastries I've come to like over here. I can still taste my breakfast though and am feeling slightly sick, a dangerous way to start a windy car journey. The main street's almost dead, the sound of the waves overpowers the conversations of the few shoppers even though the waves are tiny.

Day 44, My Birthday, Lorne Foreshore Caravan Park

The van's a mess, balloons and clothes and presents scattered all over. It's my birthday and my friends filled it with balloons whilst I was sleeping. We just ate banana pancakes, thick with caramel and chocolate. I can still taste sweet stickiness on my lips. We're loading up to surf again, the board's heavy and dusty in my hands, the sun warm on my back in the cool air. My wetsuit smells musty and salty, really unpleasant as I cram it into a plastic bag. Tidying's the last thing on my mind today, I feel light and carefree but no older - yet!

Day 43, Lorne - Aireys Inlet, Great Ocean Road

We're driving again, just a short distance along the impressive and snaking road through the trees and cut into the cliff, trying to find some more surf. The sun cuts sharp rays through the dense bush, catching in the sweet smelling smoke from a controlled bush fire. It reminds me of the smell of burning sage.The music's high and I'm singing along, following the sturdy rump of my sisters van ahead. The open window blows my hair into my eyes and cools my right arm into tingly shivers.

Day 42, Aireys Inlet, Great Ocean Road

We surf in the corner of the bay. The waves hitting a rocky point and curling around, small but clean. I'm constantly paddling against the current, onto waves, back and out. Everything's moving super fast bar the logo on the centre of my board. My arms burn with eh muscle strain of paddling but every rise of a wave I see I have to take it anyway. I can taste, smell the salt as it enters and leaves my sinuses in gushes. It'll pour out unexpectedly for the next 24 hours. As I get more tired my hands slap the water with each stroke and as my board passes over the choppy water it makes an echo like slap like waves against a boat.

Day 41, Point Addis - Great Ocean Road

"Optional clothing", the sign above this remote beach states. Under the sign someone has helpfully added "nude beach" in black permanent marker.

Down wooden stairs in the bright but cool sunlight, the thin strip of sand (soon to be even smaller by the rising tide) is clear and unmarked. We eat lunch, sausages, hot and spicy in bread and ketchup. The oil, spitting and sizzling angrily in the pan splashes my chest and tickles and stings like the sand fleas around my feet. I swim in the sea naked, freezing cold, I'm shivering and purple as I run out, flicking sand up the back of my legs. My t-shirt and jeans never felt so warm.

Day 40, Victoria Markets, Melbourne

We've just stepped out of the bustling Victoria market near to our hostel in North Melbourne. Inside it's noisy, the chaos of traders shouting their wares, customers and tourists moving slowly through the stalls and crying children incredible to be in the midst of. The vegetables and fruit are bright and fresh, the fish, meat and deli halls crammed with strong smelling and tasty looking oddities. In the busy parking lot a open backed truck full of meat has just pulled up. It is flanked by gulls, diving into it to snatch chunks of meat and struggle with them onto the tarmac. They noisily call to each other, diving in and out of the stationary truck, ripping at the strong smelling meat scraps. I sit close by, watching intently, glad to be off my feet and to have the weight of my satchel off my aching shoulders.

Day 39, Melbourne, NGV

The main gallery in Melbourne, huge and buzzing with people, nestled between the river and a main road it's an amazing building. Geometric scales and steel frames, opaque segments and glittering glass. It's large and airy, open in places, heighty in the reception and atrium. I'm feeling good, energetic and wide awake, enjoying the buzz of people around me, the echoes of people and machines and the world just happening. I can smell the food from the expensive cafe and it makes my stomach rumble. I'm ready for lunch.

Day 38, Geelong

It's taken a long time to find an internet cafe, it's cool and slightly dark in here even now it's bright outside. The sixteen computers whirr noisily together and people tap on their keyboards. I'm anxious, checking my emails and trying to get on top of my work. All around people play internet games involving war in some way. Every now and then they make noises of extreme frustration.

I don't pity them much.

I'm drinking from my bottle although a sign strongly suggests I don't. It smells and tastes like chlorine but is still refreshing.

Day 37, Baywon River Caravan Parks, Geelong

We're walking along the riverside park by our campsite, going to check the other two sites down the road. Its warm this morning, quick moving clouds making the weather feverishly changeable. I'm alternating between my wool jumper and plain t-shirt, draping the jumper heavily over my shoulders. I can still taste breakfast, muesli and yogurt, which we ate late. The park's dry, dusty, sparsely decorated with thin grass due to its proximity to the river. People jog and play sports a distance off but you can hear their coach over the water.

Day 36, Torquay Surf Beach

Surfing Again!!

This time I surf alone, the small surf occasional where I am. Fifty feet to each side groups struggle with the tiny, slow waves. I paddle hard for some, missing them by strokes, my arms, shoulders and neck burning with my blushing frustration with myself. I'm biting my lip with effort, releasing it to gulps of fishy air when I eventually get a wave. I'm getting cold, the winds sharp and my hair wet. The children learning to surf nearby scream and giggle as they pick up the white water. My own breathing's heavy and fast, filling my head as I paddle away and out.

Day 35, Torquay Surf Beach

I'm in the water, paddling out to a deep rock shelf near the furthest point of the bay. It's busy over there, black bodied surfers dotting the water like seals lounging on rocks. Rhythmically, perfectly spaced walls of green grow from nowhere and then disappear into white, washing across the plain. Mostly they're chased by the seals, suddenly alive, chasing, being chased.

It usually ends with a splash.

I'm paddling across deep, clean water, my arms burning in the muscles, my suit warm and light across my back. My eyes and mouth burn slightly from the salt, dry and acid. I can hear the waves breaking, the other surfers silent over the waves. My hands break the cool water, gently splashing, a sound so familiar it's as if it came from inside me.

Day 34, Ballerat

We're on the road again although we haven't driven far, just into the centre of town, Ballerat, supposedly famous for Victorian architecture. I haven't seen much that impressive yet. The rain's just stopped, the blue sky's spreading and the suns warmth quickly drying the streets. The brick paving of the town is hard under my feet and the constant eateries making my stomach rumble. My bowels are shifting and I feel ill at ease, the bustle and smell of the city making me nauseous.

Day 33, Beechwood Bakery, Bendigo

We're up slowly with the rain, a blessing for the drought parched land. For us everything just takes a little bit longer, the mud congealing on my shoes and slowly spreading into our bed no matter how careful we try to be. The water's refreshingly cool on my face, the same temperature as the air, and it makes a film in my hair. We sit in the bakery, the smell of coffee and cakes and food flooding into us as the rain constant drips down the window. Children play loudly in the small play pen in the corner and conversations compete with the open kitchen noises. I'm drinking refreshing peppermint tea, eating a beesting, custard honey pastry, sweet and sticky. The icing sugar sticks on my fingers, the fork I abandoned and the hot mug.

Day 32, Swan Hill

It's taken us a while to get going, only now finishing navigating Swan Hill's badly planned streets. Another cool day outside, the van's already warm and the prickly heat's spreading up my legs from the engines comforting vibrations. The van smells like home, slightly damp warmed up carpet! We listen to our mp3 player on the slightly crackly stereo and I bite my lip resisting the urge to sing along and ruin another good song.

Day 31, Wood Wood / Nyah - Vehicle wreckers yard

Hands aching we walked out of work, never to come back.

Now feeling proud of our stand and efficient we're trying to get the van fixed up for the journey south.
The wrecker's yard's dusty, the machine shop oil and sweat and banging of metal on metal. I'm standing uncomfortably, waiting to be noticed, resisting the urge to touch the matt rubber tyres or shiny smooth cold gas cylinders. I can still taste the barbecue sauce topping the cold pizza we ate as we walked out of the farm.

Day 30, Wood Wood - Pruning

My hands sting, we've been pruning for five hours and when I release the secateurs my hands feel frozen to a claw. My body's frozen too, we had a cold night and a cold dark morning at work, it's now cloudy with an icy wind. It smells fresh, no more rotting grapes although our hands are red-brown from the sap and juice of a few lonely raisins.

Day 29, Wood Wood

We've just arrived, it's a cold, cloudy, rainy day that half an hour ago saw us stuck in deep sand on a track road we were exploring. My hands are dirty and boots even more so from pushing the van. The park's simple, quiet, every so often there's a wafting smell of the recycled water they're using to save water, some from the river just across the desolate but fast highway. Dust blows in sprints, it's origins unexplained across the car and us. I'm used to breathing it, dry and warm as we stand by the van, it gently ticks and whirrs, cooling down for the rest.

Day 28, Irimple Hostel

My head's spinning, that dizzy sick feeling hungover from the night before.

I haven't missed this.

The house is relatively tidy, the bin piled high and a smell of cigarettes, cheap beer and wine from the after party we had. I'm eating beans on toast, the thick sauce dry in my mouth. Everyone else in the house is cooking or eating, slow, lethargic, slightly unsteady. Excitedly we talk through the night before, closer now than this time yesterday. I feel hot but my skin's cold to the touch, cold water freezing my throat by the glassful.

I'm mindful we have to drive soon.