The smell of death was atrocious, yet it never bothered John. He’d been travelling on those Aussie outback roads for as long as he could remember. Every dead fox, dead kangaroo, every dead rabbit, and every other dead animal deteriorating on those roads made him feel at home. Death brought a sense of closure within himself. He never swerved, he enjoyed watching the life leave out of an animals eyes and he drove straight through them, over them, felt like just another pothole in road. But that wasn’t what John thrived from the most, he is a sixty five year old male, why would animal road kill tickle his fancy when he could get away with something much more enjoyable, that made him feel like he was finally getting justice.

In the eyes of the law, John was a well-respected witness. Everyone knew John as someone who delivered flowers to roadside memorials, someone who lived on the road and mourned the loss of another driver. The locals and the law would appreciate the kind, loving heart John would portray when there was a car crash, even though the majority of the time, he was the reason outback death toll would rise on roads.

John would drive his Toyota land cruiser, towing his home on the back. The caravan was perfect for a single male.