On the edge of cliff, overlooking the infinite horizon, sits a man huddled in a tent. Dark intelligent eyes gaze over his meager belongings. Hunched on his back feet, he shuffles towards the door to cook his afternoon meal.
This is Bondi Beach. This is a place where tourists from all over the world gather to frolic in the sun and to play in the water. Hard bodies saunter their importance on the beach not far away, but here remains this man. He has somehow managed to impose a complete self-isolation even in such a crowded place as this. He does not notice the cameras clicking, nor the jeers of an intoxicated youth. He is a celebrity with no need for fame. This man is content in his flimsy one roomed shack.
Some would even argue that he has the best place to live in the entirety of Sydney. He is after all, living on some of the most expensive retail property in the world. He wakes and sleeps to an ocean view everyday, he watches flecks of gold and red splash across the sky every night before he goes to sleep. He has no bills to pay, nor a tax man knocking at his door. Does this not sound appealing? Would you not want to be able to fall asleep to the gentle lapping of the waves below?
I would hazard a guess that this is one of the most content men living in the city, either that or his gambling habit got the best of him.