Oh yeah, I'd forgotten about this. I took the tram down Church Street to get home. My hands were all dirty and coated with dried sweat and it was raining so I kept stepping out from under the tram shelter and holding them up to get some water on them. It didn't work very well, just made all the crap on my skin slick and mix together. But it did make them feel a bit better at least. I was still shitty about being told off by mister 'If-you-call-me-Tom-I-won't-answer'. When the tram came I got on and broke out the copy of Breakfast of Champions I'd borrowed from Nik.
In the post-work craziness, in the rain and the busy streets, of course there was a car crash. I was content to sit on the tram and read, let the rain fall while we were sitting over the Yarra and read. I did for ten minutes, crying at the end of the introduction where Vonnegut declares that nothing is sacred except for music.
Then the tram driver decides we'd all better get off the tram. Goddamn. There was no shelter where we got out, the stores didn't start for a good hundred metres and past an intersection. Once I got over them I tried running to catch the tram in front of us, but it just wasn't in me.
I ended up throwing a tantrum by going into Borders and ordering the biggest latte they had. I came out eventually, having been reading some crappy movie news magazine because I wasn't sure about bringing 'outside books' into the store. Caught the tram and ended up at home, drunk ten minutes after walking in.