You might as well shoot me as send me back to jail, he said after a 29 hour siege which saw the entire block closed off, residents evacuated, a pre-school closed down, a blitz of police and tactical response guys fully kitted out. Everyone in any potential line of fire was evacuated. The gun turned out to be a toy. These things were always hapenning in public housing blocks. This was in a third floor unit. The media were coralled in a park at the end of the street, out of the line of fire and therefore out of the line of sight. As the day wore on the cops became as bored as we were. He would have been out in July if he hadn't escaped last November.
In on petty charges; robbery, and subsequently, after his escape over a fence when he was helping with the cooking in minimum security. He wouldn't be in minimum security anymore. He wouldn't be getting out in July anymore. I could just imagine that day when he just said fuck it, I can't stand this anymore, and went over the fence. The lure was too strong. The needs too strong. The world had turned to glue and there was only one path.
The pigeons settled in a flock in front of us; behind the police and behind them the housing complex, sandwiched in a line between private housing. It was pretty rough, some of it, the liquid stream the only way we could find comfort, a trace of sanity. Others, renovated inner-city terraces. It would be nice to own a bit of Sydney, to find a community. Instead, over the fence and into the city and lost once more on the hunt; when the point of every day was narrowed to a tiny focus and there wasn't any way out. His destiny was a cruel one. They let him smoke as he was being arrested and carted off. You might as well shoot me; he shouted.
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