Echoes

It rained on the way home. My helmet was wet. Could hardly put it in the top box. Brought it inside to dry. Now it rests as a strong echo of my old helmet. Both helmets face in precisely the same direction. My old helmet is closer to me. My new helmet is in the empty space where I sometimes eat. This is not the only echo. Two sets of keys just at my left – my motorbike keys slightly closer. Only one key points down the dark hallway. All the rest point roughly to the back of the house. Two specifically point right towards me. Both helmets and the handles of the keys are black. I am wearing black, although my jeans are possibly grey. I am cold. Wet again on the way home. Instead of sensibly showering and changing, I walked down to the ocean. The waves crashed heavily on the rocks. I walked to the artificially lit point above the Woonona baths and then in the opposite direction toward the sewage works.