singing for change on a suburban tram
the guy beside me has a tshirt with a picture of Ruddock and a picture of Hitler, it says, spot the difference, i want to say its the hat.

another guy, guitar in hand he works the crowd , "its an honour and a priviledge to play for you this morning " We look down, around. People with headaches just like mine, wish silently that they hadn't got on the Australian Idol tram. He sings well though, he sounds like someone young, maybe 30, his tone conversational, radio announcer, he looks like he has slept rough for a long time. his face is old, heroin aged, sunhardened. when he talks its a well rehearsed act. I wonder what he would say if i met him on his own turf. He sings. we are just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl year after year, and i think maybe he's right. Its the same bowl but we are two different fish. i am closer to them, the black clothed coffee sucking producted hair women going to do things but not close enough that i don't feel the gravitational pull of the cracks in the pavement. Its not so hard to fall through. Just take your eyes off the ground. It feels wrong and right to give him my two dollars. I dont pity him, i would rather him have my money than the wilderness society, but there is something wrong here, something is happening but you don't know what it is, do you, Mr Jones.