I remember walking home one night from the train station at Zillmere. I was 26 or 27.  A group of young men stopped me, the angriest demanding to know where his girlfriend was.  I didn’t know, and I told them that, and his friends agreed, but then he punched me, threw me up against a fence, and smacked me in the head with his forearm.  His friends pulled him away.  I didn’t do anything, I said.  He didn’t do anything, it’s not him, they said.

-30 June 2015

This post is part of the I Remember series.