I remember Brunswick and the nights of Rage, its anodyne heavy metal, its floral new wave. The days of walking the neighbour’s dog turned into nights of analysing who dobbed in their marijuana crop. The days of Victoria Market on the No. 19 tram turned into nights of hunza pie, No. 1 homemade tomato relish. The days of outings to the Hills or the Bay turned into night outings of true confessions behind closed doors. The days of Helen Garner on death turned into the nights of Seamus Heaney on life. The days of June turned into the longest nights.