• people on escalators who do that one, two, three step hesitant pause stop wait to get on, stride up the stairs, then do that one, two, three step stop wait for stair to go flat and, watch out, it’s moving. What’s that about?
  • walking, anywhere not alone in a flow and tangle even melee of people, then stopping dead in their tracks right there (phone, cigarette, purse, wallet, who knows why). The world is not choreographed for or around you.
  • because I used to race bikes knowing who what is behind is as important as what is immediately in front. If I have riders on my wheel in a bunch, and suddenly freewheel, sit up, get up out of the saddle sending my bike backwards quarter of a length, there’s a very real chance someone behind will hit me. I won’t fall but they will. Do it more than once, ever, and watch out, the bunch polices this responsibility with rigourous vigour.


  • the smug self satisfaction of a good lecture
  • Ryan Bingham’s Mescalito
  • when I catch the 8:05 from Monty it can be surprisingly full (I blame the year Eltham College kids spend in the city). I disembark at Greensborough where an empty train waits to leave in about 5 minutes.


  • today words giggled, tripping over themselves as they made merry. Ideas though stayed absently glum.
  • it can be a struggle, at times, he mused.
  • the coat dragging to the floor, sweeping him up off away, all rasping scratchy sandy brusque hairy bluntness.


  • “There were four Asian’s and no Australian’s bidding.” “How did you know they weren’t Australian?” So went a shitty family afternoon.
  • prowling stalking gathering clearing cleaning. Blunt vacuum sharp tongue. People are coming.
  • a rolling grey black fog. It’s over there watching ready to gulp swallow smear and smother if I don’t do the right thing.

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