Okay Friday

A grey and heavy, cooling sky, whispering of winter.
Go away. I need more of that perfect climate kind - 't-shirt weather'.
Good Friday is at least quieter, without construction wake-up calls and V8s refusing to stop for trams.
I don't remember which is the chocolate day, but every day is for me. As is my every day no doubt spent courting blasphemy.

The hills are swallowed into the clouds and Melbourne is alone. It's a big entity even in isolation, so maybe it can never be alone, but so many who live in it are. If there are 3 million permanent residents in Melbourne and rising, how many, at some point over this weekend - a weekend stretched out like skin over an aging woman's rich skull - will find themselves desperately skimming a digital feed or swiping left and right in desperation while the world around them is clustered into warm little families?

The dogs howled just now. They must be new. Every day something sets them off and their choir's lopsided melodies fill the concrete streets. They're probably not lonely.