Because if you don't remember it, I never will.

Around the time of the infamous couchtrip on Victoria Street, North Richmond.
People would come from miles around to sample the amazing roast duck, to bathe in the cultural melting pot and to buy Heroin. The Centrelink never really attracted the same vibe that you got down the other end of Victoria St, it seems sometimes people, just actually need money until they get another job. I felt more intimated by the occasional swarms of 16 year old semi-lads hanging out in front of the 24 hour fast food joint than the constant trickling of junkies, beggars, dopers and prostitutes that fell along the tramtracks further down the street. The price of young rock and roll success was blatantly obvious.
There was plenty of laughs to be had amongst the midst of the Golden Triangle, made up of the Richmond, Brunswick St and Fitzroy commission flats. In this triangle is where i met the ever present Rob.
Rob was an old boy living on Gertrude Street in an abandoned townhouse complex, with a special comfy seat. He suffered badly from piles, which was worded in most of his greetings with people. Cream wasn't helping and Centrelink wouldn't dole him his five hundred dollar loan for an operation, although he seemed pretty confident he would work something out, he always did. The security guard that was supposed to kick him and the rest of the squatters out, never did, and actually let them jack the electricity, providing they didn't "fuck the place up". Rob was kept in butane and dope by taxing drug deals that he'd get the younger kids to run, back and forth from commissions. He asked me to leave my typewriter there so he could "use it for a while", but after I smelt the familiar odour of White Ox being brought in and out by visitors, I decided against spending alot of time there.
For a while I didn't see much of Rob, until quite randomly I jumped off a tram and he was standing there, waving from across the road.

Rob was ecstatic. He'd just gotten out of hospital.
He didn't need that comfy chair, anymore.

There's plenty of shit slammed into paper around this time.