Valley

I was in Fortitude Valley, trying to cross from Anne Street to Wickham Street, one block down from the mall. It was early in the morning and not yet light. I ventured along the cross street but it was blocked off with roadworks. Regardless, I continued along the footpath and climbed the scaffolding that stood in my way. At the top, a disheveled council worker wearing a maroon shirt, sat in a fold-up chair, resting before starting the day's work. I attempted to pass him but he told me that I couldn't go that way, that it was out of bounds. I heard a noise and realised that I was standing atop the temporary dormitory of the council workers and that a second worker had woken and was emerging from the makeshift lodgings. I retreated hurriedly, concerned for my safety. As I walked back along the cross street, a group of police, men and women dressed in dark blue, ran after someone, pointing their guns but not shooting. At the corner, they retired their pursuit and headed back toward the mall. As they passed me, a policeman grabbed a handful of my hair and said, "What's this? Bristles?" I answered that that was my hair and he looked at me in disbelief as though my hair was not real, and then walked away. I walked up the road and down the mall, observing seedy characters idling along the way. I decided to catch a bus the short distance to the other side of the mall and hailed one down. I sat next to a Chinese woman with whom I struck up a conversation. She too disliked walking through the Valley for fear of danger. We visited a woman who lived in a tall terrace house on Wickham Street, a witch of sorts. There, she supplied us with various herbs and bottles necessary for our health.