So there I was, arm hooked up to the machine, watching my plasma swirl away into a bag while the morning news dribbled across the screen like a bad fever dream. And what were they showing? A "riot" in Melbourne, allegedly. The sort of riot where the real thugs wear body armour, carry pepper spray and look like they just walked off the set of RoboCop. The people they were beating? A ragtag crew of teenagers and old hippies—probably fresh out of a drum circle, still smelling of patchouli. But sure, let's call it a riot. Now, here's where it really gets good. I mentioned this spectacle to a few people later, thinking maybe they'd share my outrage or, at the very least, give a damn. But no. What did I get instead? A smirk, a chuckle, and—oh, the pièce de résistance—"You should really just let it go." Let it go? Yeah, let me uncork a nice, overpriced cup of coffee, sit back with my legs crossed, and soak in the latest reality TV trash. Why bother caring when ...
Comments
Doesn't give one a huge sense of achievement reaching the summit when it's such a relxed stroll to the top. Nothing a bit of creative photography can't fix.
Our mountains up here are just a tad too far for a short day trip and the roads a tad too unsealed for my tiny little car to handle.
Sorry about the sherpas. :)
Roddy, yes!
Magpie, poor Serpas. It’s their children that I worry about. That fifty cents a day is important to them.