It’s a balmy day in Sydney Harbour in 2017. Wendy’s Secret Garden is flourishing, and the pavement is full of runners and rollerbladers. Chris and I are sitting on a park bench surrounded by dozing picnic-goers, watching the people go about their lives in the way that people do.
Chris reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small zip lock bag, opening the seal before passing it to me. I mutter a thanks before licking my pinky finger and sliding it into the plastic.
Comfortable silence expands as the ecstasy settles in. The people keep on running and rolling. The clouds float by without anyone noticing.
After a while, we pull out the journals we packed for this very occasion and start to write. I draw a circle in the middle of the page and scrawl in messy, capital letters: YOU CAN’T HAVE BOTH LOVE AND MONEY.