On the marsh near my home in the Northern Territory, I was standing on top my car setting up a large tripod to photograph some animal bones. It was evening, when a battered ute rolled up through the bush. The window wound down and the driver stared silently, cigarette in mouth. I vaguely recognised him as a friend's dad from high school.

He eyeballed the scene before drawling in a quiet, croaky, monotone “you... must...really...like...bones”. He continued staring with an empty expression and drove away, cigarette smouldering. Soon after I heard the crackle of burning spear grass. A fire was spreading down the marsh track, and I wondered to myself aloud whether he set the grass alight on purpose or by mistake. 

 Humpty Doo makes me paranoid like that. 

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