concrete music

I’ve got The Fear again, that mid-Sunday dread of what’s next. There’s a cold weekend wind whipping down the street, in one ear and out the other. A black cat yawns and stretches across the street as it follows its people around, oblivious to the pigeons bobbing around next-door’s front yard. It’s all so quiet, and despite being a fairly silent type of person I’m nevertheless comforted by a reasonable background of sound. »

what we talk about when we’re waiting for food

The large group table near the window takes the banquet option. Snippets of conversation drift over my way – the “I was so drunk” anecdotes give way to “I’m allergic to this and one time, well, I nearly died” stories. »

it’s the end of the line

I’d never actually caught the train to the end of this particular train line before. Just as I’d done at Williamstown a few months ago, I walked around past the end of the tracks “just to see”, as it were, that the line really does finish here. I remember the bridge across the Burwood Highway, I’d been under it many times, but never over it like this. The same places from different angles. »

goin’ back

It’s always a bit odd revisiting places you once frequented, a long time ago. There’s the hairdresser where I first had my hair bleached. I’d just come back to work from a 2-week vacation, I needed to do something to maintain my sense of vitality. I walked into this place on the way home from work and asked “hi, can you bleach my hair?”. Just like that. I’d never done it before. »