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" Hi, I'm calling to enquire about a pair of Sherdon shoes, catalouge number 1008, black-brown, size 8 ... oh okay...."
" .... And last night's concert was like so like fun. Yeah, I like saw him and he said Hi. Yeah, like I'm going next week as well. It's so like ...."
" No, the industrial relations bill cannot be passed. Just imagine no rights as a worker, we can't refute our employer, can't receive paid maternity leave. Damn this government. Sometimes I just ...."
" .... Want my school to go well in the HSC. Otherwise my own average with fall."
" Sometimes I think maybe I should just fuck up ...."

It has been ten minutes since I found this spot. Everyday it becomes more and more troublesome for me to find a place where hundreds of conversations do not intercept my own thoughts. 'Their' petty talks pierce through my brain like icy winter raindrops. Even then, I do not move. I have grown accustomed to the burning rays of the sun. Each and every particles are travelling up to my arms, spreading a vicious warmth along the way. I cover my rested head with a piece of yellow paper, strech out my limbs and block out the intruders; or at least try.



To be continued as soon as I get a bloody flow of words ...