Under the bridge


A place shared by many, but where few want to travel at night.

For some it’s a ‘secret spot’ to park before a night out. Although it’s not so secret and tickets are often the consequence.

Taxis form a queue to get permission to enter the next queue, in hopes that someone will revert to this old world method of transport and not book an Uber.

Forbidden rendezvous are not uncommon.

Limo and black car drivers converse and share stories, while their fat cats gamble more money away then they will make in a year

The toilet block for said cabbies and drivers is in a state of disarray, almost as bad as the taxi system itself.

Revelling patrons stumble through this ‘short cut’, trying not to trip over the over the make shift lanes as they venture towards the station, or further beyond into the heart of the CBD.

Employees who have knocked off are doing the same, yet hoping to avoid the drunk revellers on their way home, or at least until they too can get a beer or three down.

The sound of screaming motorbikes starting up often startles many, as they depart a storage facility close by.

But right now, on this day, it’s just me, trying to capture the emotion under this bridge.


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