When I was 16 I would catch the train after school into the city, in the underground arcades after thumbing through records in the music shops with Sylvia, my first unrequited Sydney love, I would drink chocolate milkshakes and talk about grand ideas and watch the world swirl around us. I still find time to sit in this metropolis, sometimes my mind wanders to whatever became of Sylvia and I look around me at the people I see in their own quiet moments. Sydney is our Gotham, our Metropolis, and yet I see it’s character in it’s characters. The homeless, the migrant busker, the nanna holding her granddaughter, all seen by the observer making his way slowly through the city, always watching. The buildings, they give the city its shape, the people, they give it it’s raggedy soul. It’s my adopted home, and unless you’re of the Gadigal, the traditional owners, you like me are always a little on the outside, looking in.