‘G’day, mind if I sit ’ere?’
(Sighing and looking pointedly out the window or at book.) ‘No.’
(Dropping of the eyes to chest level.) ‘Where’s yer old man?’
‘I don’t have an old man.’
(Faint gleam in bleary, blood-shot eye, still fixed at chest level.) ‘Jesus Christ, mate, you’re not goin’ to the Alice alone are ya? Listen ’ere, lady, you’re fuckin’ done for. Them coons’ll rape youze for sure