The humid air at Mount Druitt station was thick with the smell of cheap cologne and burnt rubber. Baz adjusted his Nike TNs, the pristine white mesh reflecting the station’s flickering fluorescent lights. His bum bag was slung tight across his chest, holding a half-empty pack of smokes and a phone with a cracked screen that hadn’t stopped buzzing for twenty minutes.
"Eshay, adlay," Trev muttered, nodding toward a group of suits walking toward the platform. "Check the gronks." The humid air at Mount Druitt station was
: Notable for mullets, bum bags (cross-body bags), and heavily branded polos. What kind of Australian subculture Eshays and Adlays: Australia's answer to London's Roadmen "Eshay, adlay," Trev muttered, nodding toward a group
The afternoon was a blur of shadow-boxing the air and checking their reflections in the train windows. To the commuters, they were a menace, a blur of sportswear and Pig Latin. To Baz, this was just Tuesday. It was about the "steeze"—the look, the walk, the unearned confidence of being seventeen with nowhere to be. To the commuters, they were a menace, a