| Lonely night in Melbourne
In a dim motel room on the outskirts of Melbourne, a lone figure stands by the window, the evening pressing in like a weight.
The air is thick with the scent of used linen and distant traffic.
Outside, the city’s concrete skeleton rises in rigid silence — overpasses, car parks, high-rises in shades of grey. Streetlights cast long, amber shadows across the vacant buildings below. The windowpane hums faintly with the wind, and the glass holds the reflection of tired eyes, searching for something beyond the hard geometry of the city. There is no movement, no warmth, only the quiet ache of isolation mirrored in stone and steel.
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