William Fox is currently studying at Melbourne University. His work is appearing in Thylazine, Sidewalk, Paper Tiger, Centoria and Redoubt. Global warming Like a raindrop, she is rushed. One raffle ticket. One lead butterfly, resting symmetrical on my unlucky sleeve. She sits near me in the library, starboard side of my corner. I was rained on this morning. I read that running makes you wetter, so I walked. I could smell leaves cradling in sweat as the rain slowed. The wind spread a wax finish over spine and crevasse. Well, hard covers are more expensive. From a bag she pulls her own copy; an Introduction to Economics & some headphones. I said I loved a girl who wore headphones & cried to sleep when her parents fought. But you are deaf. Your textbook & music reassure you like a blurb. From here it sounds all cymbals & wannabe gongs. She has kept an umbrella with her which is violently inside-out. It looks as surprised as a frill-necked lizard. She taps quietly & laughs in urgent instalments. Some people are annoyed. Holidays Across the bored road the beach is busy until whenever. My uncle lives with my grandparents in his own, crowded bungalow, continually re-furbished with lighthouse girlfriends. I visit from the city in haggard fashion. In the back seat, I thought I could saddle the bay and dream. I got thrown off by an underpaid rogue. Most of all, I drag plastic shackles; a manufactured lump with nothing to do, & once on holiday we cut it loose. My grandparents cook. Dinner is like packing, carefully rushed, as the sun ruffles her clouds for a short appointment with me. The bay mediates & clocks dull-blue overtime. Office lights are not beacons. They are dots to be joined, peep-holes along the horizon – Portsea, Sorrento, Mt. Martha. Greek fishermen wade. I can hear them, mumbling above the waterline like makeup. They catch nothing. The stars arch a mild solarium. Wet pebbles pop & slide like lawn bowls. My father wants a grave near the sea. The gulls blare as if it were morning. My father is shirking the issue. Fantasy I smoked accidentally as I passed her at university. She is an ambulance, sirens going, exclaiming small-talk like a nurse for the terminally ill – the effects of academia are well documented. Her bookmark face invites green research, & a government granting memory. The council is throwing them away. Classrooms, boys, & you, introduced like a teacher constrained in work experience. I sat alone & beside myself. Myself, studying the arc in your shoulders as dictated through a pressed school dress. Or myself, lifting your pony tail to check if it bent music-video truth? Obviously I’ve changed channels. Though the lawn is always wet here, you see lovers find the time, tolerant & going at it like virgins. The lawn simmers & returns, healthy. I was smoking. Obviously, she was impressed.