roundabout
124. EXT. TRAIN STATION, WARABROOK – EARLY MORN. (5.00AM)
Rainwater falls steadily on the shiny leaves of a gum tree.
The Streetsweeper appears out of the bushes on the far side of a modern rail bridge.
He pushes his buggy & broom purposefully over the bridge.
With a dour expression on his face, he looks towards the horizon where the sun tries to rise behind a think blanket of clouds.
Rain pours down over the streetlights.
And a coal train passes slowly below: with the now familiar carriage-after-carriage rhythm.
125. EXT. ROUNDABOUT, WARABROOK – EARLY MORN. (6.00AM)
Then, dragging his buggy by the rope over his shoulder, The Streetsweeper trudges up a street into the heart of newish suburb of homogeneous kit homes.
He strides to the middle of a landscaped roundabout at the intersection of two bland identical streets.
He unceremoniously drops his buggy & broom and then starts stalking around inside the landscaped roundabout: like a wounded bull in a bullring.
He paces to & fro and round & round as if looking for a focus, then he starts ranting, out loud, to himself…
