There’s a grey cloud over the Clifton Hill tram stop passengers. The tram’s not here. Everybody’s looking glum. Even Matthew Sweet can’t cheer me up. A car blares pointless music as it waits to turn right. A red Jeep impatiently beeps somebody in front, startling everyone – it’s so loud, so sudden, so close to us. When the tram arrives we file in one by one, ready to face the inside crowd. I’ve gotta fight this. I’ve gotta smile. It’s not supposed to be so hard.