Always in the Last Place you Cook
Tomorrow I'll be flying to Melbourne for a few days to visit my brother and his kids. Family is very important to me, but I can't lie, a tiny part of this trip is about using up some of the credit I have left on my Myki from my visit in April. There was a minimum top up and I didn't use anywhere near the whole balance.
Being very organised, I didn't start packing until around 10pm the night before my flight. After cramming four days of clothes into my carry on I realised, crap, I have no idea where my Myki actually is. I'd taken it out of my wallet and left it in my study somewhere, I was sure. But where in this room full of drying laundry, CDs, notebooks, camera shit, unused online shopping purchases and boxes of Lego was it? I searched for an hour. I found all my wallet's other D-League cards, including Oyster, Opal, and a dozen loyalty cards I'd picked up so I could get free stuff on my birthday. Still no card.
I nearly gave up, but I checked one last place and of course, there it was, on the floor behind my giant goddamn wok.
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The woman with the fake tan stepped into my office, sat across from my desk and lit a cigarette.
At least, she would, sometime in the next 20 minutes. Smelling the future has advantages, but precision isn’t one of them.