It isn’t how i thought it would feel,
it’s better. The anonymity and unfamiliarity - anything is possible.

The night I land I walk to meet JB. I have two leftover cigarettes rolling around in the bottom of my bag still there from Sri and we sit in some urban walkup bar on milk crates and smoke them, marvelling at how quickly time has gone, how weirdly first-year-at-uni we feel, at the unusualness of it all.

The city looks as though it has been peeled from glad wrap for the first time, all shiny and bright. Like a job interview or the first few months of dating: you know only the best of each other at this point. Hi city, this is me. These are the best shoes I own. My new jacket. The cleanest my hair can get.

The naivety is intoxicating - let’s go to another place for another drink.

Down an alley and up some stairs and at another tabletop. We watch men in suits buy women in dresses rounds of drinks. Sitting at a leaner, we take turns to gaze over the rooftop onto the streets below, checking to see if we see something or someone we know.

On the way home in the tram there’s a girl in a hoodie necking a blue Powerade and holding a pack of salt and vinegar chips. I feel like she is foreshadowing my Sunday. I feel like we could be friends. Where has she been and where is she going - I want to know everything. All the existential questions of a Saturday.

Almost home to my friend's bed I'm borrowing. The leaves are arching overhead and there are Audis lining the street. Number 5 is being repainted on the inside - the drip-dried buckets are lying on the patio and the windows are open, tipping the smell of turpentine onto the street and into the night. It's lush, white walls they're painting, I can just smell it.

Someone won $50,000 on the radio yesterday for answering ‘America’ to a question.
Like I said - anything is possible.