Love, Fear, and Loathing in Perth

Three months in Perth and I’m feeling the need to distribute hugs.

It is not the perfect pink and gold sunrises over the glassy Swan River, bearing dolphins upstream to the imagined strains of spa music, that have brought this on.

Nor the buzzy cafe in a hoity-toity suburb, and strength of character that took this 20 something guy in his my-girlfriend-just-dumped-me-for-a-personal-trainer-wear to get up off the couch, pop on a suit jacket and aviators, and head out to his job, fashion forward.

No. It is the thread of angst that keeps popping up in otherwise happy places.

At a sunset concert, a balmy 26 degrees, barefoot girls with lovely skin in bamboo dresses, dancing on soft grass…

In the immensely secure arms of Kimbra’s amazing performance at the Metro last night before jetting off to the US…

On a security guards car. Even the Golf to the right looks angry…

C’mon Perth, my arms are wide open.