On the Tram

I worked late, I was a day short for my dead-line. Talk about the dross, on the midnight rattler – even if I did catch the tram at 11pm.

There was a water bottle on the seat opposite me when I got on, just sitting there upright, left behind by who knows who.

Then a couple of sandwiches short go on, at the Bourke Street mall. She with a vacant look and trackie pants pulled up too high, complaining how sore she was from a fight she’d been in. She spotted the water and said, water! I could do with a drink, out loud. When she’d downed the contents she tossed the empty bottle into the unused doorway. Then yabbered on about the various members of the fight.

“You know, if I was at his joint and I saw him coming out, I’d stab him.” She laughed with a vacant expression, as she continually picked at, what I could only see as, imaginary spots on her face.