There are buskers in the square, set up between the statues. Break dancing comedians they are, performing mid way between a bronze queen and her puppy that for some inexplicable reason speaks with the voice of John Laws.
I feel the sun splashing over my skin, the rays soaking in, right now it's all about the Vitamin D and not the melanoma, at this moment sun damage is so a tomorrow problem. Today is for enjoying the city.
Like all big cities, Sydney has a hum, the soft buzz of the human hive. The delightful drone of everyday drudgery, punctuated predictably with the harsh tones of road rage, is more often the sound of the CBD clockwork ticking over, but today, on New Years Eve Eve, with the season's frivolity in full swing, my city is purring like a kitten.
Snatches of song, "Your skin, your skin and bones", waft over from another soul singing for his dinner, "for you I'd bleed myself dry". A girl is crouched on the stonework surrounding a tree, near the Town Hall, reading. Her book on her knees, her hand on her cheek, sunlight trickling down through the leaves and a wall of hair speckling the pages.
I have finished work for the year, my mild mannered insurance something something duties done for 2011, and been given a poets day for my trouble. I'm strolling the streets and loving every minute of it.
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