He liked busking as people made their way to work. A melody or tune to make the morning less daunting. Most were wrapped up in their own world, their own music, marching to the beat of the business drum. He enjoyed the surprise that occasionally graced a face... They didn't expect him at that time.

Produced by Postie, photo by Markus Spiske

It was a very small patch of sunlight that lingered in the cool of the evening. But it had been there a while; the stones flat surface was warm to the touch and just wide enough for her to settle comfortably on...

Produced by Postie, photo by Pixabay.

There is no beauty in death, only absence... He'd read that once, in one of his English novels, and it captured the Business elegantly.

Produced by Postie, photo by Photo by Paweł L.

Rattle on Bones was the dusty, sneezy, packed to the rafters, second-hand, antique, junk shop in Three Corners.

Produced by Postie, photo by Burcu Koleli

At night she owned this road.

No cars. No traffic. No other people. That's why she owned this time and this space.

The freedom was absolute.

Produced by Postie, photo by Plato Terentev from Pexels.

His medals sit dusty in an old box. He hid for them for years, then he polished and wore them proudly. Now he can't decide what to do with them, so he does nothing. There is no one left to remember. Except him. He remembers. He will always remember.

He is the last one.

Produced by Postie, photo by Pixabay.

Yesterday he counted two hundred and thirty two cook books, but it's not an obsession. Of those two hundred and thirty two he has only actually cooked out of fifty two - leaving one hundred and eighty unused cook books on the shelf... But it's not an obsession...

Produced by Postie, photo by ready made.

Rooftops. That was the best part of this job.

He could spend his entire lunch break just gazing out the window across the rooftops. Occasionally he'd see Miss Maison from the Gelateria up on her balcony... or there was that time the vet next door had a rogue kangaroo in the yard...

Produced by Postie.

You could hear the giggles all the way up the valley. They snuck under doors, around verandahs, they floated up the small ridges and through the canopied forest. They drifted under the pecans to the farmstead and through the gaps in the Liquid Ambers and Agapanthus.

The giggles that came with pure fun and joy.

Produced by Postie, giggles by Isaac and Ruby.

The installation of a street library started a small war in Three Corners. Declarations were made, lines drawn, friendships that had spent a lifetime in solidarity split asunder, and one marriage ended in divorce. Produced by Postie, photo by Erik Mclean.