You see them here in Tasmania. Hats so beat up the only thing keeping them together is gravity and nostalgia. But really, it’s sorta rude to ask a guy “hey mate, why’s your hat all wrecked lookin?”.

No matter. I ask anyway.

This week I had a gam with Mark, a fruitpicker looking for work in Tasmania. Me met along the Tamar River outside Deviot where we’d set up our respective travelling… Continue reading →