After defending them for an unspecified length of time, I have begun to protest against the new train operators like everybody else. I am standing on a precarious platform high above Flinders Street station, hanging onto a railing, while someone tries to arrest me. I laugh at them.
Then I am swinging on a rope above the Yarra River. A woman and her daughter are playing on a beach where a tributary joins the river. The woman points at me and her daughter laughs. I let go of the rope and suddenly I am swimming in the tributary. The water is cold and clear and I feel as though everything is going to be okay.
It isn’t, though. All of the water drains out of the river and a train comes along the riverbed. It is filling up with snow and ice. People are freezing to death or trying desperately to keep their grandparents and their children warm.
