This was Ken’s part of the city, his home, his comfort zone. Here he could be himself, without fear of being accosted or heckled. Here, he and Jason could be a couple and no-one would blink an eyelid. Darlinghurst Road had ever been thus. He remembered holding his aunt’s hand as she dashed hither and thither in the late ‘50s. She washed the ambience and the eccentricity over him like a coat of many colours
It was more a living room than a retail precinct. Sofas and cushions tumbled onto the footpath, poofs were adjusted from this side to that in pursuit of the thin rays of winter sunshine. Aroma de coffee wafted through the milling throngs, mixing Campos, with Tobys Estate, beckoning the idle wanderer sit a while.
Ken and Jason made a dash for an emptying bench and settled themselves for an afternoon of people watching. What contentment.