Near the Edge Above the road is a rusted sheet iron stable with a horse outside; an image from past scattered farms near where iron-stained clay banks stretched Sydney’s water supply piped from a century ago. Father worked a stint there.   On the downhill side market stalls crowd the double drive-in theatre normally vacant in daylight. Antiques are sold, trash and treasure, pets and greasy food, within surfing music from an ageing band.   Polite people slowly trawl technicolour alleys. Spanish speaking South Americans offer jewellery; a too-thin man sells cassettes; families of heavy islanders scan for bargains;  …