Across the channel people are beginning to wake up. They're dragging themselves out of their beds and washing their faces. They're scratching around for food. They're loading themselves up with coffee. They're finding yesterday's bread in a bag and breaking off chunks to eat. They're eating the bread and washing their faces again. They leave their houses and apartments and tents.
They're walking along the roads. They're reaching the smaller watercourses. They're finding their boats at the moorings and untying them. They get into the boats and start the motors. They travel downstream to the channel and cross the channel. They arrive at the wharf, tie up the boats, and walk into town. They've arrived in Narrabri.
In Narrabri the shopkeepers throw open their doors. Waiters and kitchenhands drag tables onto the sidewalks outside cafés. The postmaster polishes the brass doorknobs of the post-office. Carts and taxis fill the streets. Everywhere are the smells of pastry and of coffee. Touts outside the Department of Immigration hand out leaflets to the new arrivals. Every look is a smile of welcome.