What a gorgeous morning. The sunrise was beautiful.

I walked into town in a soft, honey sun.

I caught a bombardier at the stop before the free zone. (I don’t know why I keep telling you that, somehow it must expunge my guilt) A rat-faced slapper, with a coffee in her hand, moved at a glacial pace, in front of me, (you know that thrills me when they do that) to the only vacant seat, all the other seats were taken. So, I took up my position just inside the rear section, ready to grab any seat that became available. Just inside, the next available seat is yours. But, none of the bitches got off at Spring Street. None of the bitches got off at 101. One cute boy, from right down the back, got up at Swanston Street. So, I sat right down the back, looking at Collins Street disappearing behind us, next to a boy with fat legs encroaching onto my seat. So, I pushed my thigh up against his. I just kept pushing up against him until I had enough room.

I wrote a poem. Sitting there on the tram.

With my back to the rest of the tram, I was not taking any notice of what was going on, I was gazing at the romantic image of Collins Street disappearing away from me, capturing my view. Pretty soon it was my stop. As I headed to the doors, there was a fat man and a fat woman in my way. They managed to move a millimetre to the left and right, as people only seem to be able to manage now a days, so I had to squeeze through, against his stomach, and her left muffin-top, I felt like pasta pushing through a pasta machine roller made out of blubber. Oooooooo! I shivered all over.