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Sunday discoveries: an old black dress I swear I’ve not worn since uni… and it fits! And tucked within The Lifted Brow, a column on statistical maths by none other than Leesa Wockner, surely the same LW I totally admired back in our school days. How cool! So many gems in this random little lit tome. Had to try hard not to shed an awed tear on the bus when I read pars like this from “Harlem, 1964” by Ben Greenman:

I was sure you’d lean back here but you jumped off the steps. “You heard me,” you said. “No more jokes.” Then you kissed me on the side of the face but it was like you were kissing my lips. A girl went by behind you on roller skates. A leaf fell off a tree. There were so many other details that I’ll never recover, little things I wish I could have noticed. Instead I was in the throes of something broader, thicker, and darker. So were you: that is a joke but it is after the fact.

This morning when we collected our red bikes from their sleepover in Centennial Park, we did a lazy lap around the park in the mid-morning sun. We passed an old couple walking together, he holding an umbrella just so, that the sun wouldn’t shine in her eyes. I wished I could have taken a photo but I also love the fact they would have found it preposterous that someone was souveniering what I’m sure is a long-subconscious, tiny act of everyday devotion for them.

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