I'm just back from a play.
Leaving work at 5.30, I hopped on the train and made it to the theatre with plenty of time to spare.
But I'm not going to write about the play tonight. It was very good, but that will be a job for tomorrow, when there's a bit more time. The play deserves more than a cursory review.
After depositing my friend at the cab rank, I made my way to the tram.
It's a black beetle night.
One of those warm nights, a cloying night, when the black beetles come out of the ground.
You don't see it in the city so much, well not where I am, but it's only on these warm, damp, still nights that the beetles come out. I remember as a child, how we'd wake to a verandah filled with beetles. Some alive, but most dead. I'm not sure of the moon phase, but last night, a large waning moon hung in the sky.
It was walking back from the tram last night that remembered this strange fact. I took a small detour last night. On alighting the tram and crossing the road, I checked my surroundings - as you do. I was the only one who got off the tram. There was one guy in the street. Tall. Sloppily dressed. He didn't give off good energy. Instead of following him, I turned and took the longer way, passing in front of the strip of closing restaurants and down the street next to the pub. My keys and mobile phone were in my hands. It felt safer. You do this coming home from the tram after dark.
As I walked down the road, I noticed the cockroaches skittering over the footpath - away from the restaurants. Maybe they're acting like the humidity and warmth seeking beetles.
Arriving home safely, I texted my theatre friend to tell her I arrived home safely.
The tall man I'd seen at the tram stop was rifling through the possessions of my neighbours in the carports. I didn't challenge him. Rather I slipped quietly into the stairwell and made sure the doors were locked.
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