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Down the Mullumbimby Rabbit Hole
It was a Friday, around 3pm, when we had our first glass of Kratom. Jai finished his glass first and placed it on the table. “I’m going to the tip,” he said as he removed himself from the lounge and walked through the front door. I was somewhat confused by this. Why would a man…
The Magic Man
What a night. Thank fuck it’s nearly over. Olivia’s sat at the empty bar waiting for the rest of us to finish. Livs works across the road, but she’s new to Liverpool, and usually spends most of her free time in here anyway, whether we’re open or shut. It’s getting into the wee hours of…
Stoned in Tokyo
Clack, Clack, Clack. I press my teeth together as I sit on a stool in the tiny, five-person bar. The edges of my vision blur as I stare vacantly at her angelic face, stretching and tightening, as she mouths voiceless words. Is she speaking Japanese? I don’t even know at this point. Wish I had…
Liverpool Living
It hits around 1am and the bar is heaving, as per. I wriggle through the masses, stacks of glasses wedged under my left arm, balanced precariously, waiting to tumble over from a stray elbow or a wayward backhand. Kez stands behind the bar, chatting to a woman whose face I can’t see. Classic Kez. He…
High Way to Hell
There is a fine line between discomfort and danger in the context of travel. Discomfort is that sexy stretching of one’s personal parameters in pursuit of a broader lens on life. Danger is being reckless, indulgent and getting too stoned on a night train in India. I can’t remember the exact moment my brain ascended…
Bhanged Up Abroad
“Dinner, madam?” A small frame stretched up and peered into my bed with inquisitive eyes as the Aravalli Range whipped past through the window behind him. He was a dabbawala – a lunchbox delivery man – and he couldn’t have come at a better time. For several weeks now, I had been traipsing across the…

Astray is run by a team of writers who mostly live, work and play in nipaluna / Hobart. With reverence, we acknowledge the Tasmanian Aboriginal people as the traditional and ongoing custodians of trouwunna / lutruwita / Tasmania: land that was stolen and never ceded. We pay our respects to Elders past, present and emerging.