Tramp Hills I
Friday, April 18th, 2008There are the tramp hills of Brisbane. The ones you walk up in the early evenings wearing canvas, suede, smoking handfuls of heavy cigarettes with vegetables sprouting out of them. The tramp hills you climb like they’re not worth your time, climbing under the rose of middle evening yachtclub moonlight smoking down. Those tramp hills are crazy, you can walk them for miles, you can keep going following their line for miles and never reach the top because they keep on going, and everybody who walks up them turns tramp before eleven. It always happens. When you turn tramp you know it right away. Everything looks different. You see everyone in mesh petticoats and joke pinstripe blazers. It becomes easy to believe there are boat races just around the corner. Or that you are in London near the Regent Canal, and there are houseboat artists with potplants smelling of cheese.
Next up: Where to find these tramp hills.