‘He weighs four kilos and two kilos of that is fluff! How can he occupy so much space?’
No one suspected the blond boy’s cargo as he drove his crude pony cart through the streets of Charleston.
In jail he had made all these promises – ‘When I come out, I’m going to change’ – and when he came out he broke every single one of them, one after another. And to top it off, because he lived with us, my family started seeing this about him.
Not many people shift house because the dog killed the neighbour’s cat, a blue-eyed Himalayan worth a thousand dollars, but that is what we’re doing.
‘Land is the foundation of all our trouble’, said Te Rauparaha of Ngati Toa and Ngati Raukawa when asked to account for the circumstances that had led to the killing of twenty- two Pakeha settlers and two Maori at Wairau on 17 June 1843.
Discarded medical equipment litters the floor: surgical tools blistered with rust, broken bottles, jars, the scratched spine of an old invalid chair.
Tokyo Station is packed. It’s been a while since Yuichi Kimura was here last, so he isn’t sure if it’s always this crowded.
When people say ‘terminal’, I think of the airport.
A stir moves through the Pride House Group Home, and seconds later adolescent faces pig against the muggy front window.
It turns out the place we stopped for the night was a public park.
I’m late for dinner again, but this time it’s not my fault. There’s a mansplainer in my way.
Most morning, my husband, Doug, wakes up before me and reads the news in bed.
Twenty-Five years ago, Sam Neill wrote the introduction to this book’s predecessor, Timeless Land.