The Village Idiot, The Steam Train and some potential time-travelling

Today’s magical number consisted of three steaming pirouettes, in motion, alongside the chug chug of an age-old train. There were three ballerinas: one in green, like the other two carnation’s favourite spell of trees up high, down low, and all, all around.

Someone gulped down a Dirty Hippie cup of coffee (chai tea with espresso) while the others broke bread, poached egg, and sampled some dusted sourdough courtesy of every Australian fairy.

My brother once told me that I was born in the wrong era. And when I’m all aboard a steam train of a period before my grandmother, perched up on the ledge, my arms around the bars, cool breeze on my face, excited about every sound the train makes before its departure, I really do feel like I am made for a different era. And I so badly want to have spent even a few years of my life in the 30’s where boys wear top hats and were called men. But I’m mostly for the steam train sound of my childhood: little people lined up in a row, someone pulls on the vanishing train horn, I make the loud noise and altogether now! – choochoo chuggachuggachuggachuggachugga choochoo.

Never forget. Especially for someone who’s never actually been on an actual steam train.

I remotely thought about time-travelling. But who’s got the time nowadays, am I right?

At The Village Idiot Cafe, I pondered many things to do with dreams. Mostly because there were dreamcatchers hanging over our table and it felt like the perfect moment to just list them out. I was distracted by boisterous laughter from two friends, the hissing of the coffee machine, and the chirpy camaraderie between the hired hands. They talked to do with something grungy and credibly normal you cannot help but tune the rest out and slouch on the couch.

And on the way back, after a cuppa choc and bird attacks, I was beginning to be lulled to sleep and I frighteningly wanted to have been because how romantic is it? To sleep on a chugging steam train and you wake up, rub your eyes, and it is 1891, there is a striped circus in your neighbourhood with a huge fanfare, caramel popcorn and top hats!

Hey… that’s a pretty cool basis of the beginning of story ain’t it? I was gonna re-watch some favourite episodes of Brooklyn Nine-Nine but I may just start writing a story instead. Don’t worry, the protagonist’s name won’t be Bill.

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