I

I squeeze off the tram and run

Across drizzly Johnston Street

The lights of the cars blurred

By the rain.

Press the buzzer at Will’s apartment

Meet him on the stairs

A grey plastic bag in each of his hands

Hummus, carrots, chocolate.

Lewis’s face over his left shoulder

Blonde curly hair

With a dreadlock at the back

I don’t think he knows about.

He pulls a concerned face

Backs into the hallway

The phone to his ear

“If it’s too late I won’t come tonight.”

Will packs the car

Lewis gets in, after me

He is shaking his head

“I hope he’s not a creep.” I whisper

And actually hope

For a moment I feel like Marylou

Sitting in the back

In the middle

Between the two.

We “cheers” long blacks

Brought under the green fluorescent lights

Oil changes colour on the pavement

Like a chameleon

Long red spaghetti lines of traffic

Spread out before us

On the Tullermarine freeway

And then the Calder.

452 km to Mildura.