Melbourne General Cemetery All good things come to an end and I decided to leave the cinema when David was showing signs of boredom. After all, there’s only so much colour and movement that a dead-eyed zombie can take, isn’t there? I’m not sure how much of the movies David actually saw – most of the time he seemed quite inert but, then again, I was concentrating on the screen. They say the movie industry booms in depression times. Well, the movies were a big hit with me that day – they took my mind right off the horrors I’d seen in the preceding days. David had had enough and, it seemed, wanted to move along. Presumably, he wanted to go back to that lovely, cosy basement with all his zombie mates. No thanks, Dave. Uh, uh! So, I needed to distract him – again. We took a stroll along the main shopping strip in Lygon Street – lots of Italian cafes and restaurants in those days and alternative/crafty-type places where I bought my hippy-style clothing and odd toys. (Yes, I dressed like a hippy in those days – and I had such a lovely, big afro hairdo – though there was not a lot of afro blood in my veins). We strolled past ‘The Poppyshop’, purveyor of fine hand-made wombats (a perfect gift for the one you love – if you were a hippy). They sold pretty good paper flowers as well in those days – also an essential item for the latter-day flower child. We entered ‘Tamani’s’ – good, cheap, Italian tucker (the prices were always quoted in lire) – but it was the usual scene of devastation and mayhem, with numerous customers apparently massacred in mid-lasagna or mid lungo-nero, as the case may be. I decided not to raid their food cupboards – the stench of the place made me a little squeamish.
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