The Charter

The Charter

We hold this flippant mirror, to the aging face of our convict Sydney; to the overdressed squalor of our peacock elite; to the icy pallor of our quivering junkies; to the lopsided moustaches of our adolescent artists; to the teetering ideals of our veiled intelligentsia... To the tremulant eyeballs of our peaking proteinists; to the winking teeth of our out and proud, to the cabernet cheeks of our down and outs; to the powdered, snub-noses of our sharp suits... We’re born within the stories, we fat and tangled snakes; pouring thoughts into our old harbour - far darker than she lets on.