Where the waves come rolling in  

You arrive at the south end of the path which runs alongside the beach -- it's actually two paths, one for pedestrians and one for cyclists. So you'd better stick to the pedestrian path unless you wanna get knocked over. This is a beautiful scene -- the sun is just about to start sinking below horizon level, and its golden light glitters on the shifting surface of the bay. The clouds are orange and pink, rimmed with a blinding white -- seagulls are flying -- couples are sitting close to eachother on the sand, gazing out over the water. You start walking northwards towards the distant pier.

You're wearing something old and shabby -- a gentle sea-breeze drifts in through a hole at the knee. It doesn't matter -- the air is still warm and most of these people are wearing less than you. Everything is fine here -- you find yourself wanting to stay here for hours, perhaps all night.

  No turning back now
    The sun is sinking fast -- it's half below the horizon already. People are sitting on the lush green grass by the path, their faces orange in the light. Here's a group of youths hanging out and playing congo-drums. One of them wishes you a happy new year. Is it a new year? I guess it must be.
treva's page
    As you continue walking, you notice that the sun is just a tiny sliver of light on the horizon. You sit down on the blue-stone wall, still warm from the heat of the day, and watch the sun sink further. It disappears behind distant waves, leaving a patch of orange sky which you continue to watch as it slowly fades. You sit there for a few minutes, seeing no reason to hurry along. People around you are in twos and threes -- you wish you had someone to share this moment with, and your loneliness increases now that the spectacle of the setting sun is over.
    Eventually you get up and continue to walk along the path at a snail's pace. Nice-looking people pass you this way and that; the crowd is not diminishing with the light. Some people are still swimming, even. From overhead you hear the whisper of wind in the palm trees -- in a few seconds it increases and becomes colder. This is a cold front coming in off the bay. The wind is stronger now -- it blows the sand around and rouses the water into big waves. The wind, the wind -- it's blowing on people as they pack their towels away and call out to their children. The wind is driving people away. They're heading for the cars. No-one wants to be at the beach on a chilly, windy night.


It's getting dark as you approach the end of St Kilda beach. The electric lamps above you turn on, activated by the lack of sunlight. Now the people have gone and you're feeling more alone than ever. The orange lamplight seems to put you in a trance state, like you could fall asleep and keep walking. In the distance you can see the lights of skyscrapers in the city of Melbourne. But what are you going to do?

City skyline

You leave the path and start walking across the sand, shivering in the chill wind. The sand has been churned by people's feet during the day -- the footsteps are dark holes, outlined in orange like a million open mouths screaming at you silently. By and by you come to a line of giant rocks built at right angles to the beach, commonly known as a groyne. You stand on the rocks and analyse your situation. Where will you sleep tonight? You can't think straight when you're this tired. O.K., I'll give you some pointers. You COULD go to my place, which is within walking distance. You COULD find alternative accommodation, but the only place around here that you could afford is an old, grotty, run-down place called The Paradise Motel. Or, one of your options is that you could just lie down on these rocks right here and try to sleep on them.

What's it gonna be?

the rocks    the Paradise Motel    my place