The Holden dealership on Main Street was the
last of its kind in Warradale, a town that had
once thrived on quarteracre blocks and footy
matches. Now, it stood as a relic of the Retro
era, its chrome dulled by dust and time. Into
this quiet corner stepped Jack Harrow, a former
rugby league star turned drunkard, returning
after ten years away. He’d been a legend in the
town — until the day he walked out on a match
and disappeared.
Across town, Marcus Langley, an arrogant CEO of
Langley Developments, had just bought the old
Holden lot. His plan: tear down the dealership
and replace it with luxury apartments. The town
council, led by oldtimers who still wore
singlets to meetings, resisted. But Marcus had
money, and money could buy votes.
Jack, now a drifter, found work fixing cars at
the dealership. He knew every bolt, every rusted
joint. The place was a museum of workingclass
dreams — Holden Kingswood, Commodore, even a ’67
SS. But when Marcus arrived, he dismissed the
cars as junk. “This isn’t a museum,” he told the
mayor. “It’s a liability.”
The town split. Younger residents saw
opportunity; older ones clung to memory. A local
union called for a strike, but Marcus had
already hired security. One night, a protest
outside the dealership turned violent. A cop was
injured. Jack watched from the shadows,
remembering how he’d once led a team, not let
them fall apart.
Marcus offered Jack a job: manager of the new
development. It would be a clean break from the
past. Jack refused. That night, he drove the
last Holden — a rusted Commodore — onto the main
street and set it on fire. Flames licked the sky
as the town gathered, watching history burn.
The next morning, Marcus stood before the
smoldering remains, his plans in ashes. The
council voted to preserve the site as a heritage
park. Jack, no longer a hero, became a ghost
story. The Holden was gone, but the memory
remained — a symbol of what was lost, and what
still mattered.
A hard rule: no development could proceed
without community approval. Another: the town’s
soul couldn’t be bought. Both were written in
smoke.
