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Dry Creek - Different Lives
The white Mercedes purrs down the industrial backstreets. The boss is giving me a lift to the local railway station now that we have finished at our client's factory. "Over there, " I gesture, but she cannot see. "Where... There? That's a railway station?! My God!" Dry Creek has two windswept platforms. It's a factory stop, bare and lonely. People here will go back to the northern suburbs. Sometimes you can smell the delights of a big bakery a few streets away. But mostly there is only distant factory noise, and few people. It never feels safe. I press the button for the talking timetable. "The next train...to Gawler...will now arrive at...6...52......" The mechanical voice intones a long wait. The Lady appears silently in the darkening dusk. Standing on the other platform in a white ball gown with a plate of supper. Like a ghost from the 60's on her way to the Masonic Ball.
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