A cold rainy night, and suddenly for the hundred metres leading up to South Yarra station there’s no street lights, no “business” lights at all. Twenty years earlier my nuclear holocaust paranoia would’ve kicked in, every car headlight an alarm bell ringing in my head. But not now. There’s a light up ahead, I’m sure of it. »
i’m in the como centre. one floor up from our lunch table I can see a glass door, a white wall behind it, and a “10” just above the door handle. »
i’m sitting at my new breakfast café. young man in suit reads “how to become a POWER AGENT in real estate”, two tables away. then a guy wearing a plumber/electrician jumper (it said both) sat down between us. »
[“it’s not a pansy, it’s not a viola, it’s a panola™!”]1 – i can’t help thinking that “pianola” would’ve been wittier on so many levels, but the ™ gives it all away. »
a girl on the tram keeps her hands in her handbag. warmth or security? i’m not sure. »