Gavin Austin
Windows
Before the city rouses to bankroll the new day, another shabby dawn stirs him from his blanket. He abandons the stone grotto once belonging to the grounds of a famous mansion, and walks the steep road to the bay.
Outside an apartment block he stops, mauve bells raining about him, as he rifles through garbage bins beneath the twisted jacaranda. Into a tattered bag he stashes stale bread and a blackened banana.
As the first ferry begins its crossing, he sits alone by the harbour, and stares into its silvered water. Reaching his bent fingers deep inside the bag, he tosses, chunk by chunk, his solitude to the keening gulls.
city lights steal daybreak stars one by one where silent secrets lie behind bedroom blinds
About the Author
Gavin Austin lives in Sydney, Australia. He writes short fiction, short plays, and poetry. His work has appeared in many Australian and international publications.