I hadn't been to St Kilda, post-Grand Prix, so I wandered down in my lunch break for a quick walk down Fitzroy St. Somebody asked me directions to Albert Rd, so I pointed him north. Nearby, a parked motorbike looked like an angry blue wasp on the pavement, waiting to pounce on unsuspecting strollers. I walked on, unable to find somewhere with a menu that fit today's disappointingly fickle mood. I managed to prevent myself from buying more books. Emergency plan A presented itself as a comfort-food meal of pad thai noodles at the ever-amusingly named Thai Panic Cafe, giving me enough strength to keep my various inner conflicts from consuming me.
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