We stopped by a local baker on the way home yesterday. Staring into the back of the shop while Lian ordered, the darkness hung heavy in the old space, mixed with the smell of bread. An old clock up on a faded wall, along with a chinese character or two (I was too busy looking to ask for a translation). I worry about the little things, like, how do they survive? »
I’m reading an old book I’d just unpacked from some old boxes by an old writer who makes you want to stay home but here I am in a shop, reading while I wait to pick up some altered clothes. Just as I finally get my turn, an old woman steals in and asks the girl “what’s the name of this shop?” »
Walking home I see an old lady on the swing, pink trousers and headscarf. She swung slowly but deliberately, a small but measured moment of fun. »
I hopped on a train and headed west – it’d been a while – to have a $5 breakfast before going for another wander. A very loosely defined idea of where I’d walk when I got here completely unravelled when I found myself heading south again to Y town. Before long, the station looked appealing for a retreat to the city. I should’ve kept going west, instead. »
Sometimes the city conspires to keep you out of areas you’ve never yet explored properly, but only sighted from its edges so many times you’ve lost count. As I approached Cremorne, the skies darkened and the rain came. I took the hint and retreated to a cheap bakery on Swan St for a coffee and a coconut slice. Some other time. »