Suburbophobia #2

Let me tell you about my day. I spent the morning writing something in a hurry and answering all sorts of work emails in a small office cubicle, and worrying about how to interpret some obscure German poetry from the twenties. In this buzzy present moment, that is one of my jobs. At times it gets tiring, and today I was tired. There was a special meeting in the quad at university at lunchtime, where students were to decide whether the current student magazine editor should lose his job or not, for the simple crime of editing as if his readership were intelligent (and, admittedly, thick-skinned - in his responses to letters he can be a bit of a jerk.) Many speeches were given and many of these were stupid. I sat there with a few of my best friends and we took it all in, then there was a vote, and it went the right way.

That was good. I felt this quiet sense of relief - and total wonderment as to how it could ever have gone otherwise. I was stoked my friends were there with me. Sat around under the oak trees in Albert Park for a while afterwards, rearranging twigs on the ground, shooting the shit, letting time feel slow. That was a relief, too.

The afternoon, more frantic things in an office, ho hum. Got home in the very dark, wondering if I'd perhaps do some more writing this evening. Nah. Sometimes I don't check my letterbox: it's stuck behind a big metal gate and you've got to snake your arm through its bars and feel about for mail. Then all you get is a yellowed, week-old Central Leader and a flyer about dog grooming.

But this time around I felt about in the dark and there was something thick and heavy, and it was a package from Chris full of copies of the second issue of Suburbophobia.

I read it and couldn't fucking stop smiling. It's a bit more pensive than the first one. But I love it. Come and get one soon. They're free.