At Ballarat Station

We are waiting for the 11:15, I am travelling alone.  Asian tourists, serene girls, with somnolent boyfriends like wisps of rice straw in their wake, drift through the concourse - pale leaves on dark water, catching against benches and pillars, throwing up beachheads of bags and flowers. Whispering deros, winos and assorted night people hug… Continue reading At Ballarat Station