When he awoke, the late afternoon sun slanted across the room through the curtains which he had forgotten to draw. It was a different light to the light of England, warmer, yellower, thicker. He lay quietly gathering his thoughts. He'd made it. He'd escaped. He'd start a new life here in Melbourne, far from family and friends and lovers and all the other stuff in his life. At last he stumbled up from the bed. He badly needed a shower. Eleanor Cumberledge had explained about the bathroom. He could shower in the ground floor bathroom at any time, if he were quiet. He was to use his own towel. Pulling on his jeans, and retrieving his towel and some clean boxers and a T-shirt from the rucksack, he padded along the passageway to the bathroom. Afterwards, he felt almost human once more. On the way out, the ankle-biter, whose name it appeared was Bolt, because that's what he did if you left the front gate open, came up to say hello, and Jason fondled it. He liked dogs. Carefully letting the front door close on the latch, he set off to explore.
(The picture comes from this wonderful Melbourne artist's blog.)
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