100happywords: 42. Dornoch Terrace




The threadbare-carpet of the creaky, dark central hall leads me to the far end of the grand Queenslander, past doorways to bedsit lives of solitude, artistry and late-night diligence.

I greet a neighbour in the hall and ask how the performance, thesis or thankless-job is going.

Opening the door to my own little sanctuary, I trod the curling lino of the timeworn, hallway kitchenette, toss my bag on the battered silky-oak table and open the back wall of casement windows in the lounge.

I take in the breathtaking view of the city.

I may be poor but life is rich.



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