It never ceased to amaze Joe, how one minute a wild storm could flood the streets for twenty-four hours and suddenly evaporate overnight. When he had finished patching the wall, he hung a tarpaulin over the wet cement. The once smooth wall now deepened into a recess of broken bricks slapped together with thick, grey cement. The café groaned in its mythic shape. How long his patchwork would last he didn't know. But the building was still standing, even if it had morphed into two jagged sections at the top of the slope. He'd have to go to the Shire office in Heytsbury, look at the original plans and find out about the foundations, whether they'd been done correctly. Problems. There was so much to do, and this played as a subject on his mind. He couldn't have the bloody thing disappear into the dunes from whence it came. He was supposed to go and get some blue metal at the hardware store, but the ute wouldn't start. The exterior wall would come later.
In a half-hearted debate with his frustration and car keys, Joe tried the ignition once again. Nothing!
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