"It's not carrying the world on your shoulders that does it, because that's what we were bloody well built for. It's the little things that wear you down and grind you to dust. That statue of Atlas won't get squashed, it'll have little bits chipped off it. It'll have the rain wear it down. The acid in the bird poop will rough up the surface. It'll have a crack that forms up its butt that'll grow bigger until the bugger splits wide open!"

Set in a typical Melbourne setting, Henry's story is an allegorical tale of depression and his battle to hold up the expectations of others as he crumbles under their demands.