On the platform at Footscray UG I got hit by a blast of hot air and steam as a giant intercity speed train lumbered out, bound for Geelong, and the western metropoles. There were more platform hawkers than I remembered, this being the last major intra-state stop on the Western Line. Airport interconnection, the tourist drill. The giant raised concourse roof harboured the train passengers and embarkees from the smoking rain and its toxic headlines. Down in the neat squares of the shopping centre I found solace in a momentary cup of miso, and then a stand containing newspapers in Chinese and English. By the smoking compartment, an amber light and an animated cigarette. My phone went off and I was just reaching to answer when it stopped, the missed call lighting up as a private number, no message, no story. When my connecting Aramis-metro car arrived to shuttle me to my destination, I was handing over dollars to a small woman selling Vietnamese mint, asking her not to cut off the roots.