Sunflowers
Eighty-eight days of sunflowers. That's what this was supposed to be.
Eighty-eight days of endless fields, and gold dust petals, and clear skies overhead—a frosty beverage at the end of a hard day's yakka. That's what I pictured when Gary suggested this gig and, as I look across the sea of headless flowers before me now, scorched and brown and so far from the white sand beaches of the Gold Coast, I can't help but feel ripped off.
