Sunny Garden

    Then I remember the man in Albert Street, the man who always fixed Anna's heels (and she trashed a lot of heels, apparently due to the design of the pavers in the mall).
    I think I can get it fixed, I tell her. I think I know a guy who might be able to do it right away. Okay?
    Okay? Great. That's great. What do I do?
    Leave it to me. You really should be here, just in case. And I know where to go. Just stay calm. Forget the heel. The heel is in my hands. (P. 188).

    I decide to cut through a shopping arcade. I run into Broadway but it's packed too, mainly with people just hanging round in the air-conditioning and browsing even more aimlessly than outside. I fight my way up the escalator to the less busy gallery level. Up here I can run. I'm picking up speed. I'm going to make it now. I'll get there on time. I'll get there early and scrape the satay sauce off my sleeve and wear my jacket the whole afternoon. Things will be fine, just fine.

   

    I cover the whole length of Broadway in about ten seconds but it feels like four, and I'm hardly slowing down when I hit the escalator to go back to ground. I'm going to make it now.
    And the shoe slips from my sweaty hand and sails out ahead of me off the down escalator and I shout, Look out, just in time for a woman to turn her head and take it in the face. (p. 191)

Continue with the Zigzag Street tour.

Excerpts from Zigzag Street are © Nick Earls and are used with permission.

All virtual tour photos are © Liz Perkins and may not be reproduced without permission.

Disclaimer:
Sunny Garden is designed, written and maintained by Liz Perkins, in cooperation with Nick Earls and Penguin Books. Any questions about Sunny Garden should be directed to Liz

All original contents are © Liz Perkins.