In the doorway stands a white woman. She is wearing a black hat, black gum boots and a triangular thatch of black hair at the joining of her thighs. She is smoking a cigar.
In the doorway stands a man. He is a bearded young man with aged eyes. He is wearing a waistcoat, a white shirt, trousers and heavy boots. A brindle dog sits looking up at him, waiting.
In the doorway stands a woman. Honey bees circle lazy-like around her head. She is wearing a red raincoat and a native daisy in her hair.
In the doorway stands a child who is almost a man. His nose, ears and knees are an insult to grammar until he speaks.
In the doorway stands a woman. She is cold and shrugs a shawl over her shoulders. There is a kelpie who licks her feet. She kicks the dog gently aside. She is saying goodbye.
In the doorway stands an old man. He juggles property, a gas lamp, nine children, a gun and two woman's ovaries. We watch, agape, as he throws them into the air and catches them all.
In the doorway stands a woman.