eldorado

my toenails are full of festival mud, my head holds the peace that comes from waking up in the bush and brushing my teeth while staring up at trees and sky. a weekend of finding my forest feet, floating down the river, heckling hippies from the chai tent.

i pull into the carpark to find a ute in my spot, but i can't find my post-it notes anywhere in the family wagon. probably best. i take a deep breath and summon an affirmation:

i'm not the crazy lady with many cats, bathing in a wheelbarrow out the back and striking young whippersnappers with her umbrella. not yet. i can handle this without infringing anyone's human rights. surely.

the ute has a mobile number on the back. i dial it, only a bit surly.

me: mr anglesea landscaping design co, i just got home from camping to find your ute in my spot etc.

father: oh that's my son. I'll call him now and get him out.

son: action. car moved.

being nice kinda helped. sometimes it's easier to go with the rapids instead of fighting the flow.

after eltham

next time you get towed too

next time you get towed

do you mind if i park in your garage in
doncaster while you inconvenience me?

saturday in the car park

saturday in the car park behind my block of flats. me and the camry come back from the market, string bag full of white fruit and veg, and stopped short of practicing parking by an interloping black commodore in my space.

the notes i write for windscreens are terser every weekend. at first, 'hi! i think you've parked in my spot! please call me when you go so i can move my car' has given way to: 'next time you get towed [gddm fkr].'

swearing like tourettes itself. where the fk am i going to park, fkn brunswick st etaggers gdm your brunching ... gated communities now i get it ... fk fk fk every fkn saturday a new fkn commodore. that type of thing.

i look up at the flats. a wall of windows catches the full winter sun. a girl on the first floor sits in the window, long brown hair gleaming toppling down. a bare leg drawn up. if she's painting her nails in the sun, i think, she's a gdm parody of herself. but she isn't. she's squeezing her ingrown hairs.

at least something is right with the world.