"Yeah..." Leighton confirmed breathlessly with a cough because his stomach was still contracting uncomfortable, leaving him unconvinced he was done puking. He tried to wipe his mouth on the back of his hand, but there was still a mess of blood smeared there. The question was whether a cab driver would let him in with the state he was in. "No, just call one of the drivers. I can't deal with questions from a taxi driver."

He crouched down on the footpath, waiting to make sure he wasn't going to hurl again. He felt like hell and was in a complete mess. Maybe as an ex-sheepshearer, he should be used to feeling dirty and grimy, but he had gotten used to the creature comforts that came with the salary they were now earning. The country would always be in his blood, but none of this was what he bought into. Was it all even fucking worth it when he was miserable? "I wanna fucking go home. Not here. I hate this fucking place. I wanna go home," he mumbled nursing his head in hand.