A tribute to my lovely city. Hoddle St, almost every trip to work I ever took was via Hoddle st. The trees are a salute to our beautiful elms on St Kilda Rd, the waves to the left are an indication of the ocean and greenery south of our fair city as the ground gets darker to the north where it becomes more dense with wires and concrete. Her stockings are a tip of the hat to the three years or so I spent with my legs plastered in opaque black stockings (torn or not torn, but worn torn only with bright tights underneath), her broderie anglaise trim a memory of childhood. The Art’s spire (as like to call it) is to all things theatrical in our groovy town. The clock is the Collingwood town Hall clock, as seen on every train ride to town; as is the tilt panel factories adorned with brilliant graffiti and stencil work, the small grid – the commission flats that are around and always in sight, the blockish building with a sewn on band is to the years I spent working in the Abbortsford, Collingwood, and the surrounding area’s in the rag trade. The girl is still on her journey and is perhaps heading out of town.