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
P A Swanborough 
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