Sunday, 7 June 2015

Day 2: Rain & deep thoughts

I catch the train past kilometres of rainy beach. We turn inward toward the city, and suddenly I'm back into the return trip of a retail job I held onto for a year and a half after my undergraduate degree.

I soak up the graffitied back yards, thirsty for the colours and mess of it. I feel sad for the self that used to live in this, daily - mainly because she stopped romanticising the painted red bricks.

The dirty bits of the city are the parts I like the best - the parts where the weeds grow and the paint peels away. There's a part of me, of course, that loves the tidiness and perfection of the well-swept tourist friendly Fed Square- sanitised as fuck, culture alphabetised to be consumed at our leisure. I love that, in obedience.

But it's the parts we haven't cleaned up and tidied and polished, the forgotten piss-stained parts.

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