Cirrus@Austlit

'I am drunk on public transport again. A woman sits a few seats away from me, head resting on the pole behind her. Her face is a barcode, reads like this: forehead, eyebrows, eyeliner, the rim of her shut lids, and then the tears slipping from underneath. She has headphones in. I think she's crying to the music. She looks whole and beautiful, and I feel bad for thinking this. The tears keep slipping out. There is a man standing in the aisle who is more interested in flexing his biceps in the fluorescent lights than comforting the beautiful crying woman. I am angry at him for not caring for a few minutes, before I get distracted by his biceps. He gets off at the same stop as me and I fantasise about him following me home. He doesn't.

'When I get home I steal one of my housemate's Zooper Dooper iceblocks and eat it in the shower. I stay there until the hot water runs out...' (Publication abstract)