How to escape the stain of a location? We can move on, searching for new places, until we exhaust all possibility and limp back to where we thought we’d never return. Tired and emotional. Accepting the inevitable. Sometimes we’ll find a new place, and we’ll lose tiny flecks of ourself into the surroundings, until we’ve exchanged molecules and acquired a new stain, to complement the old one. Lost in our camouflaged skins, it’s all we can »
I’m hanging washing out in the dark, and the plastic clothes pegs snap in my hands, breaking in two. Again and again. I’ve been letting everybody down, haven’t I? »
It’s a sunny public holiday and the street’s turned into Renovation Town, ladders and paint and overalls and hammers and nails and saws and glue guns. By the time I get to the cafe it’s changed management again, and it looks like I’ve missed its glory days. Later on, I have cause to investigate the (fairly) newly renovated Retreat just across the road, and it’s just how I expected it to be. »
It’s a small world after all. A girl walking towards me stares, tilts her head, and says “I thought I recognized that walk” (I didn’t even know I had a walk). A blast from the past, with shorter hair this time. »
A car wheel cover rolls comically down the street for a good 50 metres or so. People stop and stare. This kind of thing only happens on TV. That’s what I was told. »