It was dark and wet this morning when Dylan, Jo & I boarded the seven o’clock train. It was warm, though, and humid by Melbourne standards, which made me feel dirty.
We set at the end of the carriage, in the disabled area, where Dylan’s pram can fit in. The train itself has had better days some thirty years ago: it was crackling and creaking as we rode, it was dirty, it was full of layers of graffiti, and it was smelly. The neon light on top of our heads was contributing to the general atmosphere with its last flickers before running out of breath, driving us crazy in the process; still, it wasn’t like we could go and sit anywhere else on the train.
Between the darkness, the decrepitude around us, and that awful neon, I think I can be excused for thinking the distorted PA station announcements sounded a lot like “let’s go to the colonies”.