Some observations from the 930am train to Cranbourne

·         There are a lot of people on this 930am train to Cranbourne. I didn’t know Cranbourne was such a popular Friday morning destination. Maybe something is happening in Cranbourne. I’ll check Google. Nope. Nothing is happening in Cranbourne.

·         This train smells like rice crackers and I am not ok with this. Of all the unusual smells I’ve had to deal with on the 930am train to Cranbourne this is perhaps the most unusual and most strangely distinctive.

·         Why are you looking at me like that?

·         I do not care for how crowded the train is.

·         There is old couple talking loudly in what I think is Greek. It sounds like an argument. The wife consistently talks over the top of her husband whose voice is progressively dropping in octaves. There are less and less syllables in his answers. I have rarely seen a man look so defeated on the 930am train to Cranbourne.

·         Out the corner of my eye: she’s pretty.

·         Wait. No. No, she’s not. Stop staring, Dave.

·         There is a gentleman with a neat goatee wearing flannel. He is happily napping while nursing an open can of Jim Beam and Coke. It’s probably a little early for that. Maybe anything goes on the 930am train to Cranbourne.

·         Is that guy playing Counter Strike on his computer? On the 930am train to Cranbourne? How is he getting enough internet coverage? I think he’s winning. I have rarely seen a man look so victorious on the 930am train to Cranbourne.

·         A slogan for the 930am train to Cranbourne: Anything Goes.

·         Another slogan: Welcome! Have a cheeky can and a nap!

·         Another slogan: Who doesn’t enjoy the smell of rice crackers?

·         I do not like the smell of rice crackers.

·         Oh, good. You are looking at someone else now.

·         I’m not sure of the brand of rice crackers the train smells like. This worries me and I am not entirely sure why.

·         I have absolutely no desire to visit Hughesdale. I’m unreservedly happy as the train leaves Hughesdale Station.

·         At Oakleigh Station a kid in wraparound sunglasses, an oversized t-shirt and baggy track pants boards. He has a lot of pimples and is carrying a stereo playing Aussie hip hop. It is probably turned up to about 7.5. He slouches right in the middle of the carriage and everyone has to listen to his music. Occasionally he sings along, particularly when a curse word features prominently. I do not like him. I do not like him at all.

·         I’m glad to get off at Huntingdale Station. It does not smell like rice crackers here.