The setting sun ricocheted briefly from the edge of the sandstone blocks of the southern pylon, shadow encasing Sydney in an evening cloak of scattered diamonds on midnight blue.
Snaking lines of silver carriages rattle to the north crowded with satisfied commuters returning to their cosy cottages on the leafy north shore. An army of private vehicles progresses southwards into the city with an evening crowd eager to be at their mid-town clubs and theatres.
A phalanx of green and gold approaches the quay loaded to the gunnels with Sydney-siders impatient to experience the first night of Murphy’s ‘Aida’ after a tipple at Opera Bar. Their raucous laughter echoes across the waters.
Vincent sits on the balcony of his cabin. He holds the latest draft of the financial report. He deemed the balcony inadequate for his requirements. A cabin upgrade is scheduled prior to departure at 2200 hours. He reads.