butt naked listening to johnny cash.

my sunday.
is there any such thing as a typical sunday
anymore? i could be walking the catwalks in milan, stuck on yet another
trans-atlantic flight or snuggled up in bed sleeping off a big saturday.
the only real commonality is that wherever i am, i start the day looking like
some sort of gollum. really.

the best thing about sunday is the chance to
sit butt naked listening to johnny cash with a fag and a freshly percolated
coffee. that and full-carb beer make up my list of favourite sunday pastimes.
i should add being in melbourne to that. i spend so much time overseas that the
chance to indulge in a melbourne-made coffee is a real privilege. we do make
them the best.

melbourne has so many great little places
hidden away; i can wander its secret laneways for hours (no, i can't tell you
where). somehow though, that horrible end-of-week anxiety manages to creep in.
sundays symbolise the end of a cycle of time that brings me one step closer to
the end of my youth and the sharp realisation that i have to hurry up and
make something of myself. argh.
abbey lee in m magazine, the sunday age.
- s & a

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