I made it back to Melbourne as the sun was rising, on a new yet old chapter. I thought about trying out a new suburb as I walked the streets.
The hobos were just waking up to their first cigarettes. Joggers patrolled the pavement and cyclists aleady on the streets. The crazies were out too – a woman compulsively wiping her face with her hands and reaching to the sky in silent conversation with the divine.
But it was not hostile, it was only Melbourne.
Okay, time for a coffee.
As the streets began to populate, I gained more recognition of coexistence, though still more eye contact from the posters of storefront models and from my own reflection than from street peoples.
An Asian tourist snapped a sneaky shot of me looking like an antelope which had wandered into a shopping mall, curious to see the ways of man.
I carried with me through Tasmania a beautiful set of Italian leather shoes, tan, clip-clopping things which I felt sure would fit in perfect here. And surely they will, only I won’t.
In the suburbs again I enjoyed some green tea in the park which I’d stashed deep amid my once-worns.
Then I wandered in search of something to munch and turning a corner walked almost right into a girl wearing big black cowboy boots. She’s from Texas and she tags along and we hang out and everything seems alright in the world.
We spent the whole evening together, and with the things she’s saying I sometimes think I’m staring back at myself. At Sabrecat she makes me smile by straight up asking if we can hang out tomorrow, then begins to backtrack out of embarrassment before I stop her:
“Oh please please please,” I smiled, “That would be great.”
Returning to Melbourne triggered something significant in me; for the first time in Australia I came to a place I’d been before. And so I encountered the sensation of Coming Home. That meant that Australia now had my flag firmly planted in it.
It’d been six months.
The tale of my return to Melbourne, May 6th 2017, in response to Daily Prompt: Thin.