Bourke Street. Tuesday,7.30 p.m. Twilight colours. Emerging lights. A sneaky Maccas. A last laneway meal before winter drives us indoors. Leaves cling to the branches. The ding of an approaching tram. Delivery bikes scarper across the road like cockroaches.
The car is parked easily. The mail is collected. A quick trip.
I live in a city. I have a post office box. This is the price of identity security.
Today's Song:
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