Strangers

Park in Abercrombie St, Friday night. A PORTLY MAN sits on a bench, drinking. I walk past.

PORTLY MAN [theatrically]: Slayers are slain in spirit!

On Sunday, I am trying to pay for parking at Georges River National Park. There is a queue at the machine, which appears to have broken down. The MAN ahead of me in the queue turns to me.

MAN: You look like a rocket scientist, maybe you can figure it out!

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