‘Well, in all my fifty years,’ she cackled.

‘That’ll be a first for Quilpie,’ chimed the other lady serving. ‘A burger without meat?’

The whole queue erupted.

I laughed, my face burning as I stared at the menu board rereading the choices;

• sausage in bread 
• hamburger

Grabbing my bun, bursting with chopped lettuce, I smiled gratefully and turned towards the arena. Beside me, the line of amused faces waited patiently, but I felt their eyes drill through me.

‘We only eat four-legged stuff out here, lady,’ teased a red-eyed man in a Broncos’ shirt which had no hope of containing his beer belly.

I smiled, liking all the friendly folk. I can take a joke.

The bread was soft and lettuce crunchy, killing my hunger, as I strolled towards the whistles of the crowd and glaring lights. The beer was a cool wave washing away the dust of another day over 45 degrees.

1000km from home. My whole body was buzzing with the rest of the town, here for Quilpie’s biggest night of the year. The music pumped, keeping us in anticipation.

‘Ben’s up next,’ squealed a young girl running to her mother.

Silent-Stan on the microphone announced, ‘Come on Quilpie, get behind man of the moment, Ben Brown. Super Trooper…’

Ben and bull burst through the gates.

First buck sent Ben airborne to land sprawled in the dirt. Screams rose with every charge from the bull, nudging Ben along and sending the steer wrestlers scuttling, disappearing head first over the barriers. They were no help. One last bang on Ben’s bum before he reached safety raised an evil chuckle from his sister.

Silent-Stan on the mic suddenly went quiet, striding along the scaffolded platform to look down where the riders prepared.

A tall man hastily brushed past me, his jeans stretched to their limit.

Gazing back at the arena, I noticed the crowd had thinned and people were rushing and gathering near the riders area. Curious, I followed, but sensed the tension.

Above mumbled conversations, rose the shrill voice of a girl, ‘Dad! Dad!’

My insides knotted.

‘He’s choking,’ someone yelled.

‘Emergency,’ screamed another.

‘Just hit him,’ growled somebody else.

Feeling helpless, I finally caught a glimpse of the tall man in tight jeans striking the back of a red-faced man leaning on the fence.

‘Look out Baz. Give us a go!’ shouted a burly woman. She then belted the choking Broncos’ supporter between his shoulders.

Chunks of meat shot from his mouth.

‘Bullseye, Glenys!’ roared Baz.

I breathed, joining the crowd’s clapping and hooting.

‘What happened?’ a lady nearby with bright glasses asked her friend.

‘He was eating his burger and mimicking a lady, some city slicker, and laughed so hard he choked.’

‘That’d be Harry.’

‘Apparently, the lady asked for a burger without meat,’ her friend chuckled softly. ‘Can you believe it?’

‘Never,’ replied Miss funky glasses.

My heart shrank.

I slowly retreated, trying to leave as anonymously as I’d arrived.