Breeze rushes in through the open passenger car window and this intensifies the cold as I drive into one of Alice Springs’s most notorious town camps. Driving into a town camp isn’t something most non-Aboriginal people like me do regularly. I have lived in Alice Springs for the last six years, and I read the headlines. From what I have read and heard I simply call this place Murder Camp due to its reputation, and I wonder if my passenger Harry knows what I’m thinking. I try to appear nonchalant. It’s winter and the temperature is around six degrees. Tonight’s…