07 July 2009


It's an adventure, most mornings. I watch for the regulars arriving at my platform, and then once on the train, I watch for the regulars at other stations who get onboard.

@ Broadmeadows station we have the dopey man with really long white hair and a neat circular bald patch on top, the middle-aged coffee-lover and essendon supporter, the short, suited acne-ridden blonde with a very fat bottom, the chubby 20-something uni student (not sure what he studies though) and the "fully-sick-turbo bro" trio who spend the morning pointing out "chicks".

@ Glenroy we have the girl with the leather gloves, the wide-eyed Indian man, the short man with a 90's hairstyle and the very hairy atheist, probably studying philosophy or something. (I know because of his choice of books each morning.)

@ Essendon there is the girl who wears hideous vintage clothing, the girl with the red jacket, the old and balding man who always looks confused ("what IS this contraption?" is probably his favourite phrase) and the angry Maori chromer whom you must NEVER make eye contact with. Seriously.

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