After Alain and Mal had left Rona had stayed for a little while longer, trying to make conversation with Sacha, before the silences had grown too awkward and Rona had excused herself politely - but not before once again pressing the flyer about Mal's band into Sacha's hand. "Come on Saturday" she'd said, "you'll love it." Rona had left the café with the distinct impression that Sacha was somebody who could be worked on. That was four days ago now. Now it was Thursday night, and Sacha was alone again in her one-bedroom flat.

She didn't have much in the fridge: just some cheese and bread and half a bottle of wine, and various things that were going off. She'd been in the city all morning, dropping her C.V. off at various offices, enquiring about joining up with agencies, checking whether the agencies she'd already joined had jobs for her. Then she'd walked out from the city up into Fitzroy, then across into Carlton and further north into Brunswick and back again, just walking to get to know her new home. At 4 o'clock it'd started raining, slow and icy, and she'd run into a restaurant she happened to be walking past and made a cup of coffee last as long as she could before the dinner crowd started filling out the place. She'd worried briefly that she didn't have enough money on her to cover the coffee, but she just managed it and then headed back into the rain. It was almost dark so she'd headed back to her flat in Fitzroy, walking again because she hadn't figured out the buses yet. By the time she got back to her flat she was cold and wet and hungry. She shivered as she opened the door. She changed clothes, dried her hair, waited for the radiator to heat up. The people next door had friends over, she could hear them through the wall. She could hear the trams rumbling down the road outside. She hung her wet clothes over the radiator to dry and put a blanket 'round her shoulders to keep warm and made some toast for dinner. Thursday night. Home was 700 kilometres away.