i. CNR PIPER ST SOUTH & TRAFALGAR ST
the trailing end of november is filled with

medical appointments followed by house

parties hosted by mates who live around

the corner from my doctor whose practice

is heritage listed thus preventing her from

putting in a ramp unlike my mates who are

prevented from putting in a ramp by their

landlord who explains that complying with

the Disability Discrimination Act of 1992

would be a source of unjustifiable hardship



ii. YOUNG ST PAST WISDOM ST 
on the journey home from physiotherapy

my Gamilaroi neighbour sees me struggling

says you want a hand? yeah i say flustered

fold my handles up so he can gently guide

me backwards off the barrier curb his arms

are strong you good? he asks yeah thanks i

got it from here! – i don’t – after trundling

across the street i find a dearth of curb cuts

on the opposite side also & resign myself to

several minutes of public embarrassment he

notices & rushes over to help saying nothing

of the bright blush hotly rising on my cheeks

i am terribly grateful for his tactful silence &

for the fact that when i am safely grounded on

level pavement he says again you good? as if

it is the first time he has said it & when i say

yeah thanks i’m good – he nods & lets me go



iii. DALGAL WAY, NR TRAMSHEDS
i used to bike down here back when i could ride

a bike before the area became a favourite haunt

of hipsters & dickheads sipping Early Grey gin

back in my day the area was already gentrifying

but at least we didn’t listen to live ukulele bands

i have a better set of wheels these days & the bike

tracks have been repaved & given names. dalgal

means mussel in Dharawal dialect as recorded by

William Dawes as told to him by Patyegarang who

in 1790 was told that if she washed herself enough

she would become white – to which she replied

Tyerabárrbowaryaou: I shall never become white



iv. RESERVE ST
this street was infamous once – i used to call it

the obstacle course & everyone walking down

with me knew why: paving stones broken to shit

by the lashing roots of gum trees ripping through

a street already too steep for comfort & scattering

stray twigs leafy debris the occasional treacherous

gumnut & not a single decent curb cut to speak of.

nobody else could push me down that road. it had

to be navigated alone. wheeling hand on rim gave

me perfect control over the tiniest of movements

though i swear i nearly died a dozen times on that

hellish stretch the challenge was exhilarating until

one day suddenly the whole lot had been repaved



v. CNR CATHERINE ST & THORBY AVE 
in summer my sister & i race madly down the

road to the local bottle-o prompted by urgent

alcoholic drought eight minutes to closing time

two minutes of which are eaten up heaving me

over the threshold like some cumbersome bride

in a fairytale lacking universal design. the lone

cashier’s face falls & i tell him We’ll be quick

while my sister dashes downstairs following a

sign that reads ↓BEER THIS WAY↓ leaving me

to linger at the till uncomfortably aware that i

am dangerous in this space walled in by towers

of precariously stacked discount wine i am the

bull in the bottleshop Asterion in the labyrinth

so i pretend to be very interested in a bottle of

thirty dollar rosé called Cockfighter’s Ghost &

wait for my sister to grab a sixpack of dreadful

cider & a packet of Winfield menthols so we can

get the fuck out of here. on our way back home

traversing broken pavement littered with broken

glass i see someone has abandoned a cork from

an expensive bottle of champagne in the gutter