28 March 2025
Friday. The second pair of coffins has arrived in Sydney and nobody dropped them, which I consider a personal triumph.
I supervised the freight in spirit. I wrote FRAGILE on everything, including a sandwich. The coffins came out of the crate exactly as they went in: two of them, one guest each, every centimetre where I left it.
Sydney guests seem much like Perth guests. They wake in the dark, they hear the shovel, they hear me laugh. The laugh travels well. Some of them scream in a slightly different accent, which I found charming.
The gamesmasters on George Street are just as kind as the ones on Lake Street, which is to say far too kind. They let the pairs out the moment the hour is up. They hand out hints. They say well done.
Next, I am told, Melbourne. I have started practising the laugh in a cooler climate. My throat is not yet ready.
— U.
