DUST swirls around the old bus as she shudders and stops to pick up a passenger.
The year is 1972, or thereabouts. The gun with the wheel is young; late teens, could be early 20s. He’s thin, fit, healthy. Glint of adventure in the eye. The bloke who hops on is 24 maybe, ugly, with a beard.
The driver, Tony “Hussein” Hinde usually doesn’t stop for a straggler. But this bloke looks like a surfer. No ticket? No problem. Come along for the ride, mate!
The bus is going to the mines. Surfers and shapers from around Australia who have
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