melbourne

I can spot another tram traveller reading “On The Road” on the way to work (hey, I did it too), dreaming of a different kind of life. »

I’m standing near the intersection of Church St and Swan St, when a blue station wagon pulls up at the lights. Instead of hearing the doof of “modern music” I could have sworn he’s playing Neil Young. Yeah. It’s “a man needs a maid”. How about that? »

I’m walking home through “my” third of Brunswick, and it sounds like there’s some kind of concert going on, but the music’s bouncing off the houses and every few minutes it seems like it’s coming from a different direction. What’s going on? »

There’s a young-looking guy following the fine tradition of singing alone with his acoustic guitar, and he stops halfway through the set to solicit suggestions for a Smiths cover. Later, after he’s all done, he wanders over and apologizes to me for forgetting some of the words. “It’s ok,” I tell him. “The words don’t matter. It’s about capturing the feel. You did just fine.” People wander back and forth. from the front bar to the tiny “beer garden”. »

Every girl I see on the train seems to be busy putting on her makeup. I guess it’s an important day. In the spirit of the season, I want to try and find the words to say to the one near me that she’d look just as good without spending so much time covering her face with so many different things, but it’s hard to say something like that without getting the words arranged horribly wrong and besides, it’d be violating the »