It was labelled a ‘meteorological anomaly’, a dust cloud red banking the southeast Queensland sky; afternoon a crimson dusk. Inspecting Boundary Street, the air lathered rouge, the view distorted beyond the tunnel’s arch of Dornoch Terrace. While in the house, the television showed similar dust storms: American artillery barrages in the hills of Afghanistan. Presented with the cobble stones and rustic mortar around Boundary Street’s bridge, I am also drawn elsewhere, my mind inspired by Victorian architecture and Jack the Ripper’s dark paved streets shrouded in mist. Through filters of red dust, I imagine his fog-tainted whispers, ‘Catch me if you can?!’ But this is not London, this is far from Afghanistan ... though red dust fills the air that is occupied by Osama Bin Laden’s phantom and George Bush Jnr has got everybody by the tongue.