three mornings, three moments:

a few days before Christmas, coming into town on the Yarra trail; the rowers out early, as usual. a girls' eight, rowing in red reindeer antlers. and the cox, gliding along behind them wearing a Santa hat. the coach on the shore on a bike. no decorations at all.

the Monday before Christmas: the market was supposed to be open today. maybe it was. but not by 7.10 am, when I needed my coffee. institute emergency procedures and head north to Ti Amo. thank God for the Italians.

this morning. Christmas. a poor sleep; up late wrapping presents from Santa (the kid is only 6). next door's dog barked after midnight, waking me and the kid, who then realised that his stocking was full and the reindeer's carrot had been chewed. Santa's been already, he said. and I said, yes, that must be what the silly dog was barking at. it took an hour to get him settled again and get to sleep myself. and then I woke at 5.30 am with a full day of Christmas hosting before me. rode aimlessly, through town, down Collins Street to the harbour. crossing King Street, I noticed a cop car outside a strip club. about 20 men, probably late 20s/early 30s, milled around on the pavement. a couple were getting into a cab. there was no violence, but there was its possibility. I watched from a good distance, and wondered; it's Christmas. these men are not homeless, or poor. why are they here? why are they not home with their girlfriends, mothers, even sisters? and thought about the dangers of men with no attachments to the world, nothing to give their lives meaning, to make a place for them. I left before the cop car drove off, and rode home to my child.