Tuesday night.

Coming home tonight the tram was strangely silent. No-one talked on their mobiles, or chatted to friends. A few people listened to music, but all that provided was a lilting hum, a staticky background to the muffling quiet. Everyone seemed lost in contemplation as the tram lurched through the night.

It made me think about the New Years Eve a friend took acid and wandered around the city. I walked her home, and she kept stopping to hear the music, insisting that the rhythm of the trams rattling by formed some strange symphony. She made short films and wanted an all-tram soundtrack, and heard it wafting through the balmy city air.

On the tram tonight no-one was taking acid, but the gentle undulation seemed to rock everyone into a fugue state. Inside the carriage, the thrum of the tracks seemed to coincide with a collective breathing in and out. A few people pressed their noses to the cold glass, and left condensation marks on the window. And still no-one spoke.

At Brunswick rd, an old Italian man got on and started up a monologue, talking to everyone and no-one, and no-one and everyone breathed in and out. Two stops before the depot, I pulled the cord. The driver leaned over to her grimy window as I passed and said, "I feel sorry for him". I realised then that we were the only people left on the tram. The Italian man wasn't getting off. But he'd gone quiet and the silence was enveloping.

I got off the tram and dug my hands into my pockets. The sky was black with clouds. I sang all the way home.