Cirrus@Austlit

'It looked like beer o'clock in a city pub on a Friday afternoon. Suits, noise, movement. But it wasn't. It was 9 am in a suburban courthouse on a crisp April morning. So many men in suits, blokeing around, smiling, shaking hands, patting backs. Solicitors, prosecutors, perpetrators. I couldn't tell the difference. They were lit by the sun shining through the large round skylight above. Some suits were broader than the shoulders under them; others were worn like a second skin. My ex-husband looked comfortable in his, talking to his lawyer, 'I can't believe it...there's no grounds mental problems.' I felt the muscles in my body tighten, snapping back into familiar places.' (Publication summary)