In lieu of actually travelling anywhere, here’s a spot of travel writing, based on a most unassuming place.
It’s night time on a week night at Westfield. In a grocery store, shoppers come and stare sadly at the barren, empty lettuce stands, caused by a national lettuce shortage due to floods and an extra frosty start to winter. Does it remind them of something sad? Or did they just want salad for dinner? Some wander over to the potted seed section as an alternative that won’t help with tonight’s dinner.
Outside the grocery store in a main thoroughfare, people walk past shops that have lights on but plastic and metal shutters down. They’ve all gone home for the night. A women in a bright red coat bustles past carrying five bags of various sizes. A man powers past in a power suit heavily laden with plastic grocery bags. Three school girls with giant school bags argue about whether they have time for McDonald’s sundaes before their bus.
Further through the centre, a man in a tracksuit slowly walks past, bouncing a big black backpack that holds a loud baby. He walks into the only other store that is open; the florist. He puts down the backpack and gets the baby out to show her all the flowers. The young hoodlum stops crying. Maybe flowers are calming. Maybe they are just something to look at.
When he leaves the florist tells me who comes in at this time of day. “He's calming his baby because there is nobody here; he has been here before...And sometimes people just want a nice thing in their home to cheer themselves up...and there are people who need flowers urgently for whatever reason”.
Heading out of the florist, classic casual elevator music is playing loudly in the centre. A recycling truck kid’s ride is lit up and ready for paying customers, it’s right indicator flashing wildly. A man in a blue pin stripe suit walks into the florist and emerges with a pretty potted plant. A man dressed casually in a a classic Canberra black puffer jacket stops, looks in, then walks on. Next time he will get flowers. The florist is open an hour past its bedtime but it seems worthwhile.
Security walk past; bored, but make eye contact. The guard glances behind him at two teenagers squealing with laughter. Will they make trouble for him tonight? He walks on. Further down the polished tiled corridor retailers in the foodcourt are advertising bargain dinner options. Anyone for 10 hour old rice?
Three Uber drivers with oversized backpacks wait at McDonald’s for their customers order. Another order is barked out by McDonald’s staff; a chocolate sundae for order number 212 purchased by a private school boy. A family of five walk past sharing a single chocolate sundae. That might be the next tantrum.
Leaving Westfield at the golden arches of McDonald’s a man with wild eyes walks past with a determined gait. I look back at he steps into the florist, and the three school girls run past me with their sundaes on the way to the bus interchange.
