The sun is setting and the clouds are pink. Mount Dandenong has a pink hue.
Closer to home, a couple towing suitcases and with a map in hand disappear behind a tree, to never reappear.
A tram passes. The driver rings his bell, needlessly. The road is quiet.
A jogger in a pink top and black stretch pants passes a fellow jogger of the opposite sex, he dressed in a green fluoro top and black shorts. Did they acknowledge each other? Did their dedication to fitness connect them?
Two obvious gay guys leave Subway, with their foot longs in hand.
Our neighbour is walking his dog. Benito has stopped to do his business on gravel surrounding a tree. Our neighbour seems to be struggling to find a pick up bag in his jacket.
The man across the road has left his pot plant watering hose spread over his balcony in a most untidy manner.
His neighbours behind and lower have bought new bright orange and white sunlounges.
The red light camera flashes; someone won't be having a great end of 2012.
Three minutes of my balcony life and I did not think about sex.
It could not last. The rich gay guy who lives below the one with messy garden hose has a new beau, much younger than him and he has punk looks, a most attractive lad from a distance. How much is he paying him? Punk guy seems to topping up the dog water bowls.
You should be pleased you don't have me as a neighbour.