Occupy Melbourne
My city is textured. Every street and corner, every skyline, every space, it seems, brings to me a memory of another event or time that was violent or emotional enough to imprint itself on my consciousness. I walk past a tram stop where I once sat watching for cops as my comrades hung a banner from an empty building. I see from the window a street that I used to skate along on my way to Uni classes. I shiver as I remember punches and arguments thrown in a park. This week I have added a few more memorable moments to my mental map of Melbourne. And after Friday I will never look at the City Square in the same way.