Cirrus

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'Travellers bound for India may be interested to know that there is a way to have your holiday bankrolled by criminals who, while trying to make a dollar out of you, will find you have made a rupee out of them. Goa, India's beachside Sin City - equipped with a mysterious oversupply of Russian prostitutes, tourists so stoned they can't remember what country they're in, lost hippies and the sleazy rich - is a hive for scammers. They're waiting for you in bars, clubs and cafes, ready to casually introduce themselves with a joke and a smile. You won't need to find them; they will find you.' (Publication abstract)

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y Voiceworks no. 89 Winter 2012 16748349 2012 periodical issue Abstract 'For a few years I lived in a tiny beachside town six hours from Melbourne. It was the kind of place with postcard-perfect shorelines, mudbrick houses and a prep-to–year twelve college. So, even in a combined classroom, there were only ten other kids in my class, the majority of whom weren’t mad keen on books. These being the dark days of dial-up, whatchya saw was pretty much whatchya got in terms of a peer group – and even worse, selection at the school library. After moving to suburbia, the hourlong train ride into the city felt like teleportation in super-slow motion. The pull of those corporate towers sheltering hidden cafes was physical. Like an undertow or tractor beam. By the time adolescence kicked in proper, I was caught up in a powerful question familiar to all fledgling artists: once you realise you’re a writer, what next? I’d already taught myself to like coffee and some Silvia Plath. Now I wanted more.' (Kat Muscat, Editorial introduction) 2012
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2012
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pg. 49-51