In Little Collins Street, he hides,
Shadowed by brick and whispered tides.
Earbuds hum a private stream,
A world inside, a hidden dream.
Footsteps echo, brisk and small,
Neon flickers against the wall.
A melody or talk drifts near,
Only he can catch, only he can hear.
Smoke of the city curls around,
Steel and glass, a distant sound.
Alley folds him like a secret note,
Music or podcast, on him it floats.
Sony A7RV
FE 135mm f1.8
Check out Candid 955
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