Today it rained, and Melbourne forgot to wake up.
I ventured out into the darkness and the hissing rain, giving the trench coat it's first outing (even though it's not cold enough for a coat of any description yet), and found myself utterly alone.
No cars, no pedestrians, just me and the rain and the dark and islands of damp glare glancing off the wet bitumen under the streetlights.
For the entire walk to the tram stop, I seriously considered the possibility that my night's dreams of the paddle pop lion1 had presaged the apocalypse. There were no lights on in any of the neighbouring houses, and the main street was deserted.
But the tram turned up on time — no apocalypse, then. Perhaps instead my clock was running early? But the dawn turned up on time as well, spattering the eastern horizon as the rain kept hissing down and the air turned from dark to gloom and then slowly to overcast as the tram dropped me off a mile from work.
And still I was alone. That walk is normally filled with pedestrians, dog-walkers and gym-goers and road crew grabbing a bite of breakfast alongside office workers too hurried and harried to eat at home. This morning the windows of the open cafes were as brightly-lit and abandoned as those of the closed furniture stores.
The whole of Melbourne hit the snooze button this morning, and the streets were mine.
It was lovely.
- Don't ask me. I just live with my subconscious; I have no insight into its vagaries. [↩]