Saturday 2nd June, 1990. After three days holed out at The Rucksack Rest, the cheapest guesthouse Sydney’s Kings Cross red light district could offer us, some sightseeing, eating budget burgers (no more cholesterol please) and mulling over our transport options we finally made a decision: we’d go for the car; he has to fly on the third - tomorrow - and will be desperate. We ambled down Victoria Street that is lined with backpackers selling their vehicles: cars, wagons, camper vans and even the odd motorbike. An old VW camper would be great, but they hold their prices really well and even an ancient one is beyond us at 3000 bucks. Spotting those who are desperate to sell is easy. They’ll inevitably be pacing, eager to catch your eye and will flash you a strained smile,
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