SomebodyNobodyAnybody?

"You may not have won anything, but at least you're a someone from a no one."

That up there, quoted by my former athletics coach, respectfully referred to as sir Zol. Who then, has clearly no idea about the real definition of my being a someone now.

I miss being that someone then. The belonging to a fraternity, a posse in which your significance is undefined. Not precisely limited.

Now, I'm just a somebody, living as a nobody in a land of everybody.

Sitting down here in the glow of my reading lamp, while (almost)the whole Melbourne sleeps. My heightened sensations in brief periods of silence never fails to amaze me. I listen to the whizz of the passing car's tyres as they brush against the foundations of the street below, the subtle clicks of footsteps (the same sound you get when you crush hard candy with your molars) on pavements and the occassional incomprehensible yabber of the beloved street's late-night pedestrians. Possibly drunk. High from crack and cocaine. Little things I love to assume, it intrigues me.

Out of a realisation I suspect, I conjure a flattering idea under my breath.

"What a great time to be alive."

When humanity is at its peak. Where progression is stagnant. The people around us, basking in the glory of modernisation. Is this really where the beginning of the end starts?

And then like the fleeting life of the poor mayfly.

"It is also a great time to cease."

Jinn