I don't see the rats any more.

I don't see the rats any more.

Used to be I'd see them all the time, mainly because I was looking for them and enjoying the fact that I had the impression that no-one saw them but me. Scurrying around on the train tracks down there at Flinders Street Station. All those people going to work, coming home from work, reading their newspapers, looking at each other, reading the timetables, staring at the ground, staring into space, waiting for their train.

I'm sure they never saw them.

Early mornings on the platform with a cigarette and a coffee.

Bad coffee.

And the rats would run along down near the tracks. Out of one hole and into another. In and out. You'd have to be watching to see them. Down there on the tracks.

Mostly I kick myself out the door these days.

Grab keys on the way out. DC's bike is gone. He must be already on his way to work. I didn't hear him leave. Must have been in the shower or asleep. Don't know if Hanky's still home so I won't lock the deadlock. He'd be pissed if I did.

The early morning sun is bright on my hangover. It closes my eyes and makes me bow my head to the ground. And after I've turned a few corners on the way to the train station I fumble in my pocket for a cigarette and it doesn't taste good but I convince myself that I need it so I know that the discomfort I'm going to feel is not due to nicotine withdrawal.

Beetles walk like this.

Shifty-eyed. Turning their heads left and right. Out of touch. Tight-headed and grunting at the world.

My legs feel weak as I climb the stairs of the railway overpass and the train is coming so I skip quickly down the other side and jam my coins into the machine and grab my ticket and jog up to the very first carriage because that's where I like to sit.

I read now because I don't like to look around at the other passengers. I read good books so it's all right. And then we arrive at Flinders Street Station.

Book in bag. Bag on back.

Off the train and onto the platform.

Up the escalator. Onto the street. Across the bridge. Into the office. Down on the chair.

Fresh coffee.

God, my neck is sore. My muscles have been clenched all night. So stiff.

I never see the rats any more.

I never have the time.

But I know they're still there. Going back and forward. In and out. Always running. Down there on the tracks.

In and out.

In and out.