beside the fact this bed is the most beautiful bed ever made
in the history of beds…i really, really love these colors together:
raspberry, indigo, abalone, and pearl. feeling so inspired for my new room
You take a shortcut through the bicycle parking on Lygon Street. The bikes are too close together. They seem to be moving. All you can see are bicycles. Forever.
You go to the pub for a meal. You order the vegan parma. “100 percent cruelty free”, the menu says. The eggplant makes no sound as you bite into it.
The next station is North Melbourne. Change here for Craigieburn, Werribee, Williamstown, Sunbury, and a growing sense of unease.
Your flatmate sells terrariums at the Fitzroy Markets. Using tweezers, she inserts tiny plastic people into mossy landscapes. You look closely. The people have your face.
Lost cat signs are going up in your neighbourhood. New ones appear every day. Where are the cats going? Are they running away from something? What do they know that we don’t?
You buy the ornate baroque bed that has been sitting in Franco Cozzo’s window for as long as you can remember. You sleep well. When you wake up, you’re back in the shop. You sit up slowly, becoming aware of the people peering at you through the glass. But it’s not you they’re looking at. It’s the bed. They can’t see you at all.
A new bar opens on Sydney Road. It has a pan-Asian theme. Smiling white people bring you a cocktail named after a massacre. You sip it and think, This is reality now.
This is reality now.
What evil lurks in the empty shell that was once a Spotlight? No one dares even to ask.
Someone has yarn bombed the poles outside Brunswick Town Hall. The pattern grows more elaborate every day. The yarn spreads to engulf the building, the road, the tram tracks and the kebab van opposite. Fire cannot kill it. Leave while you still can.