Winston Hills, Sydney — August 25th, 2008.
Morning, 6:55 AM
Daniel slowly stirred his tea twice, clockwise, then once in the opposite direction. Earl Grey, two sugars and a splash of milk. Just the way Claire liked it.
The toast popped up seconds later, slightly darker than golden. He scraped the edges softly and buttered it edge to edge, and placed it on the plate without a sound.
Outside, the street was grey with morning mist. A few joggers passed, wrapped in neon layers and headphones.
The bins across the road rattled as the council truck arrived, always around 7 AM on Thursdays. Routine and predictable but strangely comforting.
Claire entered the kitchen tying her robe. Her hair was still slightly damp, yet her eyes still wore the quiet puffiness of someone who hadn't fully woken up. She gave him a soft kiss on the cheek and picked up her tea.
"Someone got up pretty early today," she said.
"Couldn't sleep past the alarm," Daniel replied. "You know me."
Ethan stumbled in next, a flash of messy golden-brown hair and dinosaur pyjamas. Daniel reached out, ruffled his head, and guided him to his chair.
"Toast for the lad?" Daniel asked.
"With peanut butter," Ethan mumbled, eyes still half shut.
He made it just the way his son liked. Cut into triangles, crusts off.
The kitchen was small, but cosy—yellow tiled, slightly faded, filled with the ticking of a wall clock and the clink of cutlery.
The radio played quietly in the background, an ABC morning presenter talking about rail delays on the Western Line into Central Station.
Claire sat, watching Daniel fuss with Ethan's schoolbag.
"You don't have to do everything, love," she said. "It's just toast."
Daniel smiled, but his hands didn't stop. He liked doing these little things—the quiet efficiency, the sense that everything, for now, was all in place.
At exactly 7:30, Daniel stood up, smoothed out his shirt—light blue, neatly ironed—and grabbed his coat. It was Black wool, tailored fit. He checked his belongings.
Wallet: check ✅
Keys: check ✅
Phone: check ✅
"I will be back by six," he said, kissing Claire on the forehead. "Don't forget Ethan's dentist appointment."
"Don't forget to breathe once in a while, instead of living in the office all day," she teased.
Daniel laughed politely, stepped into the fog, and closed the door behind him.
On his way to the station, he walked past the same newsagents, nodded at the same elderly man walking his beagle, and paused at the crosswalk, same red light, same wait. Life was as it should be. Organised, measured and whole.
Kings Cross,Sydney — August 26th, 2008.
Midnight, 1:37 AM
The lighter clicked once, twice. And the third time it lit up.
Danny lit the cigarette, took a long pull, and leaned against the colored brick wall outside the pub.
The street was damp, puddles catching the orange glow of the overhead lamps. From inside, muffled music came through the windows—fast, synthetic and forgettable.
He hated the song. But he liked the night.
Two lads stumbled out past him, laughing, one dropping his kebab on the curb.
Danny smirked, took another drag, and checked his phone. 1:38 AM. He hadn't noticed the time until now. He rarely did.
His phone buzzed—unknown number. He killed the call.
A siren howled in the distance. Not close, not far. Just part of the background. He cracked his neck, flicked ash to the side, and rolled his shoulder. Something had been aching there since earlier. A dull sting.
He lifted his sleeve. And saw a bruise, slight purplish in colour, just above the elbow. He frowned.
"Pub brawl again?" he muttered to himself, but the memory wasn't there. Not full, just flashes—a shout, someone shoving him, and a fist maybe or maybe not. It didn't matter much to him.
He tossed the cigarette on the ground and crushed it under his boot.
The pub door opened again. A girl stepped out—short black dress, heels too high, eyeliner smudged like war paint. She looked around, confused, before spotting him.
"Oi, you seen Jay?" She asked.
Danny shook his head.
She squinted. "Huh. You look like 'im. You ain't Jay?"
He laughed. "Definitely not."
She stared a second longer than necessary, like she could see through him. "Weird, ay" she said, then stumbled off into the night.
Danny stood here, the smoke still lingering around him. He wasn't. He wasn't anyone. He was just a nobody.
Just the quiet hum of the streetlight buzzing above him and the feeling, for just a second, that something about all this wasn't quite right.