Smoke One

I closed the door on our empty house for the last time, leaving the detritus of rental space – the video cards and home-delivery pizza menus, the old school telephone directories in yellow and white, sensor mood lights and triple flush, raked Japanese mini-garden and opaque pond, twin bins and water-efficient compost – for its new occupants, whoever won it in the moball. I’m shrugging off old paths, I said to myself, navigating the small maze of backstreets, diving down the Old Fitzroy Underground entrance, hardwired into the intersection of the street like a snooker-table pocket. I’m tumbling down the net, top right hand corner pocket, the treadmill submerging me beneath the trams and the people traffic. My mood re-melds once I’m down below, in the warm glare of the two intersecting underground lines. A shuttle’s coming & I metro west to Aramis, mesmerised by the retro cartoons of the advertising hoardings, the shuddering clunk of the brakes as we enter each half-moon station’s curve, the seats already packed, always packed. It’s always midnight down here. Faces like blank screens.


About the author

Davey Dreamnation (1972–?) is an Australalian musician, vocalist, pirate and record-label owner who now lives 'in the third person'.

View his full biography.

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