Simon was squinting into the horizon. He and Micca had left Sydney two days ago, driving west in Simons muscular old jeep. Micca had looked into his crystal balls, (the original ones were worn out, some years ago, and they had formed two misty words ... Woop Woop.

Simon had been playing a number of old tapes, recordings of many a drunken session from the 60s. This had been a long trip and he was buggered. Micca had been explaining the ins and uts of Nostrilsarmpits, the medieval visionary. But the only vision that Simon could see was that puff of dust ahead of them on the road.

And a strange large bird in the sky, black, flapping its huge, batlike wings..