I rode the tram up north to my mother's house, and I saw a man juggling a seven-ball cascade on a street corner. It was at the intersection of two big roads; he was facing away from the traffic. The juggler could manage to get them all airborne though he'd lose control shortly after. He kept doing it, a pile of balls on the floor each time. Something like a week later I saw a juggler on a different corner, westward but not far from Intersection 1. He had four pins, and he was juggling in front of the stopped traffic for money. In the same fashion as the first man, Juggler 2 couldn't persist through the toss. Was it the same person? I saw him again on my return, after I'd retrieved my groceries.

Maybe four days after that, I crossed Intersection 2 again when out for a walk, and I saw them both there. Juggler 1 and Juggler 2. Both practising their juggling on the corner, backs against the traffic, both unsuccessfully executing their routines. I finally had my answer -- they were different men after all. I was reminded by them of Melbourne's iconic Alexandra Parade window washers. You can read a fascinating article about them here, which discusses their stories and their philosophies, interspersed with poetry from Wayne (one of the washers). I unfortunately didn't manage to get a picture, so instead I'll show you this empty park bench near my house:

It seems like it'll be a hot weekend coming up. This might be a good opportunity to lock myself in my room and start reading some books I got recently: Who's Afraid of Gender by Judith Butler, and Attrib. and other stories by Eley Williams. In an age where there's a lot of harmful rhetoric about gender, sex, and identity I figured it would be good to educate myself a little bit (I don't think the Eley Williams book applies here).