Making the most of the weather, I walked down to the local shopping centre to pick up some lunch. I took the back lanes, as I often do during the daytime.
So off I waked.
Richmond is an old, working-class suburb. It used to be filled with workingman's cottages, complete with a network of back lanes, which used to home the backyard outhouses, back when the dunny man would clear away the night soil. Thankfully, all of these are gone now, but the lanes remain.
As I started by journey down these labyrinthine passages, I noticed a woman pass me, going in the other direction, looking a little flustered. She was wearing active wear. Blonde hair. In her 30s.
I then turned the corner to see a street person rummaging through a box, muttering to himself. Although he wasn't threatening, he gave off a bit of an air. This is Richmond. Once you've lived here a while, you get used to the local flora and fauna. In this case, I was wondering whether I turn back and take the main road or carry on.
I then heard footsteps behind me. It was the blonde in activewear. She'd obviously had the same thoughts.
I turned to her as we were just about to pass the man with his head in the box.
"Hello, friend. Safety in numbers."
"Thank you,"
"I nearly turned around myself. But he seemed harmless."
"Yeah, but I didn't want to risk it."
"I'll walk with you. Safety in numbers."
We had a lovely chat about all sorts of things. How the nearby injecting room has stopped us having to call the ambulance for dead and nearly dead junkies in our laneways and carports. How the methadone dispensary has been really well done - you wouldn't know it was there unless it was pointed out to you.
We only spent five minutes in eachother's company, but I was taken by the solidarity we women have when it comes to our safety.
We bid each other a good day.
I got my lunch.
And I walked home, taking the main roads. Just in case.
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