S rings me,says she's had a big fight and needs to talk.

Although she's deeply oblivious to everything most of the time,T's naturally a nice person who wouldn't hurt anyone and usually avoids confrontation like us normal folk avoid herpes.So when she says "big fight",I know it means what it means.

We order drinks,get around to talking and I tell her I can't take sides.We come up with two possible solutions,both subject to rules and Plan B's and we've agreed to accept that some things have changed (or that we can't expect some people to change),and we have to work our way around that.I think about the time I've spent here in Melbourne,and wonder in five years when I look back-which parts will seem significant.Whether I really seized the chance when I had it,or simply chose to steer on auto and graduate with a scroll,having made nothing of myself or done anything extraordinary.I think I'm waiting for something to bloom from the inside,a nice feeling that stays-I'm searching,I'll know what I want when I find it.

S asks why things keep fucking up,I nod and point to the nearby TV screen-1600m mens relay,they're still quite tied up which means the race has only started.We think about big things,and talk about the way things should be.There's always something wrong or needs fixing,the grass on the other side seems perpetually greener.I know what I know,the rest is just noise.

S calls up the other girl,says sorry.A white flag on tainted ground,a quiet cry for mercy.The other girl says sorry too,two minutes later they both hang up.An empty sheet,lines here and there make up for the space but the verse doesn't seem to come together."She wears her smile like gloves to a party" and "midnight clouds come and go",a story is missing.

+Its between Tropic Thunder or Baby Mama this weekend.If only the actors for the two got together for one big blockbuster,now that'd be convenient.


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