All Change

Ah, there you go, three more days back at the salt mines, unexpectedly, done, over, finito.

Smoking Brenda had her "woman's op," or some such thing and then could stand up for the rest of the week, or couldn't sit down, or couldn't pass one leg passed the other, so I was called back in, as if on a long elastic band, like a puppet on a string.

It was nice being back, some where familiar, my first assignment, home sweet home, hey? Stockholm Syndrome is an easy trap. Mother's breast milk. Set me free.

Still, perving on the wog boys, nice. Angelo was his usual charming self. Branco, with the hot hot arse left today with me. Well, he didn't leave with me, today was his last day, as it was with me.

And tomorrow off. Yay. A good week. I've got a list of things to do.

I start in the inner suburbs on Monday, southside. I'll be back on the trams, back on the 86, actually the 96. Yay! I miss inner suburbs PT.

I'm glad it's not St Kilda Road, though. They are all a bit whack in St Kilda Road. A bit... fingers doing circles around each ear. I guess that's where I'll be next, now that I have mentioned it, isn't that the way it goes. I don't know why they are cracked, but always found them to be a bit weird in St Kilda Road. It's like they have a CBD chip on their shoulder, or something. CBD envy.

I've got a day in Fitzroy coming up. There should be more of that. I can just wander around the corner. Lovely.

Still, tomorrow off comes first.