A tram with a mustache stickered on the front passed by me in the city this morning. It reminded me it was Movember, and a sweeping glance across the crowd waiting with me for the pedestrian light to turn green revealed very few perhaps zero - mustaches.
In 2018, Anzac Day is a tricky one, everyone caught between respecting the fallen, and wishing for a world where we'd never killed each other in the first place.
"We'll upgrade you to something more comfortable," the car-wrangler told me. This was the first sign something was wrong.
Every night when I clean my teeth before bed my reflection gives me a thumbs up for making it through another day. In the morning when I brush my teeth after breakfast, mirror me flips the middle finger so I don't start to feel too cocky.
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