Sitting here under the cafe umbrellas to escape the inner Melbourne heat of the day, I listen to the magazine hawker call out about the latest "big issue". The potent scent of body odor wafts by on the hot, dry breeze and I scrunch my nose, hoping it will pass quickly.

The number 86 tram stops about six metres away and about three dozen young people run off the tram screaming, smiling and laughing.

Somehow I'm not surprised.

The scene causes a few turned heads, a few chuckles, but not much more than that.

Just another day in the city.

The hawker slumps more than sits in his chair and I can't help but wonder when they started getting chairs or sitting on the job. Then again, perhaps it's just a perk of his particular 'territory'.

He looks at me once again - he's looked at least a half dozen times since I sat down. I get the feeling it's more about me not buying his magazine than about him wondering what I'm writing...

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