The Big Smoke.

At the beginning of this evening, I would have told you that the feeling that was consuming me was 'displacement'. That I was waiting for this fire to whirl up around me and make all the things I hold with determinedly rigid hands crumble. My dad has told me that the house is a death trap. My mother is sending me messages from South America, asking me to locate pearls, and tax documents, and that photo of Uncle Peter that made him look really well just before he carked it. You'd find me sitting on the leather couch of a friend's lounge room (I board here permanently, but home is just not a word I can use), and a blaring of orc-slaying and Sean Bean death scenes provided little distraction. The street lights brightened the outside so you could mistake it for mid afternoon, trapping the light in with the smoke. I haven't seen stars in four days.

I received a message from a friend who asked me how I was. And not the 'Hi, Good Evening and Welcome to Kmart Katoomba, we are making the evening announcement that our store is preparing to close in ten minutes time. Come to the register late, and I won't even make eye-contact with you when I ask you how YOU are.' He sent me an email, and retreated into the darkness of wherever he stays now (I assume it's dark, as there would be nothing to trap in the lights down there in the city). And the big smoke doesn't seem so dense, but I still have all the light.