I wasn't allowed to talk to Mum in the mornings. She said that she hadn't had her medicine yet. I wasn't quite sure what was wrong with her or why she needed medicine everyday.
We'd go into the city every day and walk through Darlinghurst to get to the clinic. I would stand by Mum's side and watch her drink out of a tiny plastic cup while the clinic staff would try and distract me with their fake high pitched voices. I hated Mum's breath after her Methadone. She'd be herself again and I was able to talk to her again. Although by then she had met up with all her junkie friends so I still couldn't get her attention. We would usually stay in the city all day while Mum drank coffee after coffee. I remember just running around Kings Cross by myself trying to find something to do. I am very surprised nobody snatched me up.
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