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.