A backpacker hostel this time. A step up from the caravan parks and campgrounds. Halloran dumped his pack on the rusty, steel-framed bed. Walked downstairs to check the notice board. “Mangoes. Three days at Mataranka.” “Money looks good,” he thought. “But how much for the board and transport with this crowd”. He’d make sure to ask the agency later.
Sunburnt Speculations 
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