Grains of sand

Did the laneway cafe thang (cinnamon in banana smoothies - must remember that). Couldn't resist a squiz inside Dungeon Crawl, an independent new'n'old videogame specialist that'd enjoy my patronage if I lived here. At a book exchange, I settled on "The Interpretation Of Murder" (2006) by Jed Rubenfeld. Ordinarly, I'd baulk at two killer fictions in a row, but the cover reminds me of Caleb Carr's "The Alienist", it bears glowing quotage from "The Guardian" et al, and 'twas a mere $3.85 when I traded in "New England White". That novel, although precisely literate, is twice the length its plot can sustain and ultimately had me asking, "So what?" Long-term political gain requires short-term individual sacrifice - yeah, knew that. I won't bother with Carter's "The Emperor Of Ocean Park".

Still-to-do list:
* Maritime Museum (Update, 4.44pm - spied the barque Polly Woodside in the "maritime park". If there's a museum, access was denied to this pedestrian by construction.)
* Wining and dining with AZ and her boyfriend R., who've promised me fine Italian cuisine on Lygon St.

** Note: You won't hear from me tomorrow as I'll be on a Greyhound bus, lost in an alternate history where Sigmund Freud pursues a serial slayer in 1909 Manhattan. **


(If anyone's curious, this week's entries have been composed at a tour office and the adjacent backpacker hostel, both of which use the Global Gossip Internet system.)