12 September 2009
The morning was tentative, a non-committal milky grey like second-rate tea. I soft boiled an egg and spread it on toast staring out at the distant roof tops. My flatmate was up hours earlier and there was an extra echo to everything in her absence. The cups clattered loudly and my footsteps rang out on the downstairs ceiling. Why the neighbours never complained about our lounge room dancing, gentleman callers, arguments and all-nighters was a mystery. Aside from our impiety to the snooty suburban religion of silence; we never took the bins to the nature strip. There were a few Nevers we tried to live by. The cook never cleans. Never rat on each other. We would often run into the grounds of stately mansions at night, breathless and whooping on the inside.
I tried to leave the apartment soundlessly.
It was getting to the end of winter, passersby were still clad in marsupial palettes; brush tail possum brown, common wombat (common woman) umber. The city opened inwards to let me into its fold...