DEAR LANCE,

I am sitting on the back seat of the bus, heading for Melbourne. This morning, my father took me to the railway station and we waited in the shade of a stringybark tree for the bus to pull up and open its door. The train left for the city just as we arrived, blowing a sad message on its horn. I could have caught that but my parents thought the bus was cheaper and would still get me away from you. They said I was lowering their standing in the community. They said I had no pride, going to the pub and hanging around while you drank at the bar. They said I was like a little dog waiting for its master. Well, that is how I felt. I had to see you, Lance. There was no argument about it.