It was 1985. I was a 17 year old boy with a shock of died auburn hair and heavy, smudged eyeliner when I first heard this song.



I was living back home in Toowoomba, famous then only as the Garden City with its Carnival of Flowers, infamous now for its carnival of unsolved murders. It was about an hour after dawn on an autumn day. I was alone, walking slowly down a silent country road.

 

The road was a damp black line that curved gently here and there to pass at a distance between the larger...


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