Thought I would share a tiny bit of the writing I did yesterday about my protagonist Flynn Goldsmith.
I get a tram up Swanston and jump off at Melbourne Central where I’m just another commuter going home, from work, uni, school – escaping the city clutches back to suburbia. City people fucking hate the Melbourne outer suburbs.
“Shit coffee out there.” My make-up artist sniffed, claiming she’d never lived outside the ten k city circle. Do I look like I give a shit? I reckon city people are jealous of the trees and the backyards that people have in the burbs. The fresh air probably makes city bodies go into a state of epileptic type shock, only used to their lungs drinking in the cocktails of smog and greasy dumplings in Chinatown. An actual backyard. The thought makes me nearly salivate. Not just a shitty concrete ledge with a pot plant looking down it’s possible death, fifteen stories up. Shit that reminds me. How long do pot plants live for without water? Mum’s going to kill me if she ever visits..
I know what you’re thinking. “Dude, you’re lying. A high profile musician cannot just go about catching trains even if they wanted to. They need bodyguards. They get limos with bulletproof windows and probably wear bulletproof vests while sipping their expensive delicious alcoholic beverage while living the high life of fame.”
That’s what people like Susie would want you to think it’s like. All awesome and cosy in our bullet-proof vests. But I am telling you that I catch trains for hours on end.