This morning I was buzzed by an F17 (I presume) and a chopper. I walked past the bins of Martin Place, colourfully attired in black plastic bags and police tape (I like to pretend every one of them contains a miniature homicide -- like a snow globe). I saw police in cars, on foot and yes, with bikes.

I've heard if you spot George Bush's motorcade (I'm not sure if it's the real 'cade or the fake one, and whether George sits in the 'reality based' one or feels more naturally at home in the 'Cade of Falsity and Fakeness) -- anyway, if you spot the motorcade, look up. Look up into the windows and rooftops & you'll also be able to spot the snipers artfully positioned like streaks of black paint in an otherwise realistic landscape. Real or fake, I'm not sure. The snipers.

This morning I heard two men shouting. They were having a regular conversation, but they were shouting and they were striding down each side of the road.

"I wouldn't go down south, mate, they arrest a fella if you're black down there."
"I'm not going down there."
"Don't go down there, mate!"

This morning a blind man tapped the girl behind me on the shoulder. We were all waiting at the lights and the girl behind me must've turned because then the girl beside me turned and so, domino-effect, I turned. We're all standing there in the wind, freezing, the two tall nordic girls behind me with their hair fanning out brightly in the wind.

And the blind man said, "Excuse me, I'm blind -- as you see," he held aloft his cane, an old fashioned wooden one with a split handle, "but I can still see your hair shining."

We laughed, then we hung back to let the blind man cross the road first. I suppose this was respect though actually it felt like wonder.