In Northcote, only the coffee machines scream
In a post brexenvironmentrumpianutterfuckingapocalypse world, the power is out, the water is polluted and the country is on fire.
We join a band of heroic refugees, a family of three and some friends from Watsonia North as they pick through the ruins of inner-city Melbourne.
In the first act, our refugees witness the seige of Northland Shopping centre, now an independent republic, by enraged citizens from surrounding suburbs. They have taken advantage of the close proximity of a massive Bunnings Warehouse to build barricades around the centre, not realizing those sealed inside have two food halls, several well stocked supermarkets and a cinema to keep them going. Two of the party opt to help the siege, while mother, father and daughter continue on.
In the second act, our protagonists head to the Gateway to the Inner City at Bell railway station. But when they arrive, they are forced to sacrifice their one remaining item of value to the immaculately dressed Hipsters who control the most important resource of all, the black gold that is coffee.
The father bids a teary farewell to mother and daughter and they continue on to the one remaining safe harbour of the Inner North.
It is in the third act that they approach a new destination, the only hope in this desolate inner-city wasteland, a shining beacon of remaining civilization: Northcote Plaza. This shopping centre might be third-rate and run-down, but it has several strategic benefits; not only does it have two supermarkets, it’s also got Italian delicatessens and best of all, a K-Mart.
They run the gauntlet of marauding packs of homicidal Yummy Mummies, their prams kitted out like Mad Max creations, pensioners on electric wheelchairs doing burn-outs and grinning politicians looking for legitimacy and offering promises of law and order. Here and there are burned-out food vans, their colourful livery the only brightness in this hazy, smoky environment.
Seemingly heralding their arrival, the moon peeks out from behind the smoky pall, and its light reflects off their destination: the apartment building that towers above the plaza.
The music swells, as our heroes move faster toward their destination. But as they approach, they realize something is terribly wrong. the Hipsters are outside, they are dischevelled, their beards straggly and unwaxed, their post-irony lost. They are desperate and looking for someone to blame. It can mean only one thing:
The coffee has run out.