This story is part 4 of 5 of The Man From Kiama.
She had soured on Sydney and what she called the ‘interminable vibrations of hipster capitalism’. He was sure that he would never understand what she meant by this.
She got a job engineering espressos for locals who frequented her cafe for little more than some company while they read the paper.
The two of them would sit in the hammock and watch the trains chug to and fro. When she first arrived she would lay with her head on his chest but as the months passed he began to notice the surfacing of a restlessness she could not tame. She no longer gazed out at the beach – she was now looking back toward the city beyond.
Over the course of the summer the black roots of her hair grew while the auburn ends were continually trimmed back. The colour had been entirely eliminated when she told him she was leaving.