Summer heat bakes the world white.
Even the bay tree and thyme are curled and pale.
The dogs lie like rugs in the cool lounge room.
The computer room is hot, computers hum,
the sun presses in through the curtains.
I am speechless inside my cool coccoon.

Tonight I drive into the city to meet the unix folk for calzone.
Wishing I could hop from here to there
without the trip into the setting sun.
It is tempting to stay in the cool with a book.
But today is the second last day before they escape
to Tasmania for for two weeks.

/me tosses a coin.

It seems as though every time I take a trip to my favourite city, Melbourne, something seems to go horribly wrong. When I got back from Longerenong about two months ago, my mind was running at a hundred kilometres per hour for several hours afterwards. And all that from enjoying the trip. In the last two months, I've been to Melbourne four times, for different reasons. Today was about the worst. Things were OK up until about 6:15p. Me, my girlfriend, and her sister boarded the train back home, then the train was cancelled. We got another one, but not without some confusion about where to go, what to do, and all that junk. Eventually we boarded about the shittiest train in the network (and it smelt like it too) before changing at Bacchus Marsh for a bus. That too was excruciating, as I felt sick, headachey, and I was reading a particularly disturbing part of HOUSE of Leaves, not to mention that my girlfriend, my girlfriend's sister, and my girlfriend's sister's friend were begging me to perform my new party trick - a very camp voice.

But I didn't feel like it because I was in the worst ever mindset and it had the worst ever timing. I was worried about the animals, I was worried about the house (mine, not the one in the novel), I was exhausted from the day, I was trying to come to terms with the events of the novel and I was trying not to be sick. Plus it was 9:30 and I was already nearly an hour late home.

Believe me, Longerenong has nothing on this experience.

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