I think about you, Louis, do you hear me? I've sat in six different cafes with the intention of making up some sort of review of each place, purely for practice, like you said, and such scribbling only left me deeply dissatisfied and desperate to leave. Instead I found myself pulling out your letter from a pocket, reading over again what you wrote, and then began transcribing the pages, between cups of tea or coffee, a sip of watermelon juice, a nibble of rosti with a side of pesto mushrooms on turkish, or a bite of a barramundi burger. Then the letter ended, and once again the cafe chatter was starting to close in. I couldn't concentrate. Surrounding spoken sentences were soon starting to seep into one another. The filter, for want of a better word, was failing. I had to get out.
Louis, I can't help but wonder what happened in Melbourne. Why did Susie leave all of a sudden? And did she or did she not return to London? I'm guessing, but it seems to me that she didn't, otherwise why would you return alone and repeat the route you took with her? I've been to Melbourne once before, I like the city, it's a place in which I could imagine living one day. The food is fabulous, the bars brilliant. We could meet there if that's where you plan to end up. Let me know.
Louis, where are you?
Shuffled scenes from our childhood are starting to come back to me. In dreams. The other night I saw again Lisa Hart, Ian Prince, Sanjeev Gurung, and Shaun Bright. Do these names mean anything to you? Sanjeev I know you remember, for that's who we talked about the day I saw you again, after so many years, walking down the street last November.
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