The absence of rush.

It was still dark as I rolled off my 15 minute attempt at meditation. I had been staring out of my balcony window listening to Nepean highway traffic slowly build from an occasional woosh to a hum of commuters in their giddy self talk in preparation for another day in the work place.

A moment later I am showered and in my car peeling through the early blue. Destination is Caulfield station to secure a free car park and a quick train zoom into the CBD. I read last weeks economist on my iPhone, and before I know it Flagstaff appears in the windows. I commence my steady escalation to the city floor headed for Ab’s, my barber of 15 years. I arrive at his shop and instead of the normal cue of middle aged hairy men waiting for service, I exult at spotting Aby sitting there alone, mind you it is 6.30am.

I’m greeted by old matey and offered my first shot of caffeine. I hesitate because I don’t do the pod espresso machines normally but I balance off the value of the moment. We talk as we sip or coffee’s with the conversation following the normal path, his business, my business, a guy he knows who is doing well, the economy in general and the last notable Melbourne underworld figure who got a haircut there. All the while I sense the mammoth journey of a million of these early morning Melbourne moments but notice that here, in these early hours, time stands still; an absence of rush if you like.

I am cropped and waxed (don’t ask) and I emerge from the shop scalp refreshed and renewed. I make my way down Little Collins street to Syracuse, an old mansion of sorts now a restaurant cum cafe bar owned by a buddy of mine. I grab my strategic and internet enabled spot, the managers greeting ebbs across the floor as he whips up the standard long mac he knows I take.

The music of the morning fills the room and I savour the last of the absence of rush.

absense of rush

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