Stanthorpe

Stanthorpe.
Texas.
Mora.
I’m sitting in Stanthorpe on the guesthouse drinking hot water with honey. I can imagine that this is how Nicole Richie felt when she was in rehab.
It’s quiet, calm and absolutely nothing to do. It’s Saturday and there’s no one around.
We went out to a farm to pick some apples and save some money to keep on traveling. Everybody said that it was going to be so hard. That it was going to be such a shit job. But working for a week I must admit that it wasn’t really that bad. Boring? Yes, of course!
But really not that hard. Climbing a ladder, twisting down the apples and lifting it in the bin. I would still be doing it if it wasn’t because of my arm.
That is irony. I went to Australia to travel around a bit and work on farms picking fruit. But when I did it my arm broke down after one day. Irony.
So now I’m sitting with a bad arm in a small town without any money again.

I just realized that I’ve actually done everything I wanted in Australia. Well… I haven’t been to Melbourne yet. But hopefully that’s on its way.
So if I have to go home now I wouldn’t regret missing anything. What I would be feeling bad about is coming home without money, job or an apartment. But I did Sydney, I did Byron bay and I worked with fruit living the cheap life and seen spiders I will never forget.
Now begins the hunt for work again. I’m leaving for Brisbane on Monday. I’m hoping for a bar job or something with coffee. But we will see. Maybe we’ll meet in a bar close by soon.
I am Charlie. My arm is a broken money bag with a hole in it. My arm is a bitch! I am Charlie! This is