Looking down from the tiny plane all I can see is light yellow, the grass starved by drought, and winding through it like a snake the deep brown of the Murrumbidgee River.

‘It looks fucking hot out there, man,’ Estelle says, craning to see past me.

‘Apparently you can swim in the river,’ I say without much enthusiasm.

She shakes her head. ‘I can’t believe they’re allowed to just send us out to the middle of nowhere like this,’ she says. ‘But, you know, that’s medicine, isn’t it?’

‘Indeed,’ I agree. ‘They did this to us as students and now again as real doctors. It’s unbelievable.’

‘Being a doctor is just one big game of rural bingo,’ Estelle says mournfully, leaning back in her seat and massaging her temples. ‘I can hardly wait to check out our new drinking hole—the RSL club.’

Not for the first time, I consider filing a lawsuit against the producers of Grey’s Anatomy for false advertising.

Several hours later and the reality that we’re stuck in Wingabby for a little over two months is starting to sink in.

We’re sitting on the couch in a fibro house that is decorated exclusively in shades of brown. Estelle is staring out the window.

‘I haven’t seen any birds yet,’ she complains. ‘Isn’t this place meant to be, like, bird central?’

There’s a rustling outside our front door. I sit up. ‘Do you think it’s a bird?’ I try not to sound scared.

The bird knocks on the door, then yells, ‘Guys! Open the door! It’s so fucking hot out here!’

Estelle looks at me. ‘Are we expecting someone?’

I have no idea who our visitor is but, appreciating how sweltering it is outside, I go to the door and open it.

A man is standing there, looking thoroughly aggravated.

‘Fuck, Katarina.’ He sounds annoyed. ‘I’ve been trying to find you for ages.’

I examine his face carefully, and realise we know each other. It’s one of the other interns from the hospital. I think I might’ve spoken to him once in the first week and then I never crossed paths with him again. Pete someone or other. I recall someone telling me that he’s super uptight and gunning to do cardiothoracic surgery, and repress a groan. Great. We’re stuck in a tiny town in baking heat with a junior version of the Joker.

‘Thank God I found you,’ he says. ‘Do you have any cigarette paper? I really need to roll a spliff. I’m fucking desperate.’ Then, seeing Estelle’s less-than-impressed expression as she realises who he is, he adds defensively, ‘I’ve brought my own weed, and three bottles of wine.’

My mouth is open.

‘It’s a bit warm,’ he says apologetically, ‘but at least it’s something.’

‘Is this a test?’ Estelle’s staring at him suspiciously. ‘Like, we aren’t falling for it.’