There is a certain comfort in knowing that you can be in other places, be another person, opt for something that it not here, now or you as you are now.
On the bus, a cold day, an hour away from dusk. A stretch of industrial road. It feels like an early spring in rural Canada, the outskirts of some university town.
Not that I've ever been to this place, mind you.
Instead, it's about 6.10pm in Melbourne, Australia. The moment here only feels like a moment in country I've never been to. These moments don't have names, they are only reminders that there is a life somewhere else just like your own, but not.
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