The streets of Preston are emptier than during the week after New Year’s. Lawnmowers whir distantly. A young girl in blonde newness stands talking with men. They clink the change in their pockets. The light catches in her hair. Dusk falls quickly and I pace the hill, feeling the wind bite.
Diamond Sharp 
Melbourne cars patrol the Peninsula. Distant fires of vineyard prunings smudge the hill. A kookaburra waits, fluffed up against the cold, watching me, waiting for his bacon. Smotherd in layers of wool, I sit at my computer, reading Diamond Sharp.
Sounds idyllic … but cold!