Wet.
Standing at the limit of an endless ocean.
Tuesday night. Franklin. Pigeon Whole Bakers. Fortnite. Owls.
South of Hobart, Huon.
Tasmania
Adding a few shots as they come to me in this beautiful place.
An Airbus 321 that was smooth up until we crossed Bass Strait. That crossing takes it's toll by air or by sea. A quick trip into town and it's time to walk. Curried scallop pies. A waterfront to rival Wellington in New, Zealand, perhaps prettier. Beer in convict built pubs (probably not pubs when they were built) and a dawning realisation that if I was going to ride my bike anywhere out of here, it's going to hurt, we are surrounds by hills in the same way Custer was Indians.
