Song 2 – 'Finding Warren'

It isn't long till we see the track, a little brown strip of washed rock, a dusty gulley - a fire-trail. Peter says nothing the entire way, he keeps pace methodically - sometimes I think I hear him counting steps, his face a mask, sweat beading on his forehead, where his eyebrows meet.

It’s Peter who spots it. He put his hand out, on my chest, it covers both pockets. He points and grunts - his first sound since the numbers trailed away at the top of the Tanami ridge. A shoe. A blue shoe.

I can’t see it at first, there’s so many burnt out cars up here, kid's fires, party sites you know? Faded Coke cans, one has ‘Barcelona 92’ on it. In of the wrecks - '68 Holden I reckon - was a shoe. A blue shoe. It just sticks out – isn’t the right colour for anything up here.

That’s when we see the rest of him...