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Ms South Fremantle

Felicity treats herself to a bowl of organic muesli and yoghurt while sipping a fair trade soy latte from Ootong & Lincholn. She is dressed in a floral dress of modest length and rocking little pink shoes on her feet. She jumps on her pale blue old-school fixie with a wicker basket attached to the handlebars. She rides whimsically down South Terrace and shoots the bearded, Ray-Ban-wearing lads a wholesome smile, as to say, “don’t dream about my body, dream about my heart”.

In her basket is a Kodak Polaroid camera. Quite an antique. She is taking it to the abandoned Freo Power Station to take snaps of the masterful graffiti and send them to the child she sponsors in Sudan. While taking photos, some ageing Freo art-type dude sidles up and gives her unasked advice about capturing the graffiti from the right angle. She knows his game plan is to bamboozle her with advice until he has to “guide” her shoulders and arms into the correct position. Nice try old man, but no dice.

Felicity only has 2 hours before her first yoga class for the day. She swings by Manna Wholefoods to pick up her weeks worth of organic pearl couscous, lentils and goji berries. While at the store she runs into a local artist she knows. Every button on his short-sleeve Hawaiian-esque shirt is done up, and he is wearing tight denim cut-offs. He isn’t wearing any shoes: “I really pick up on the organic aura of the food when I don’t wear shoes, darling”. She eats it up like it was a bowl of kale chips served with organic tahini. “That is so rad, man, you should come to my yoga class this afternoon”. He scoffs, “sorry darling, I only trust one yogi with my body, ciao ciao”. What a dick.

Felicity opens the windows to her yoga class, “feel the Freo Doctor cooling the air, that’s where we want to be”. Some husky beginner overexerts himself and lets rip a powerful guff of organic putridness. “That’s cool, man, your body is just making room for other, more positive energies”. Yeh right, the dirty cunt just crop dusted your class, don’t praise him.

After Felicity is done for the day, she drinks T2 blends out of old jam jars and listens to her cat purr. “Who needs a TV when you have a purring kitty”, she muses while applying a Sukin face mask and listening to the Arctic Monkeys.