There is a bad smell in here. It wends its way down the length of the carriage, passing over the faces of the patrons of the No. 86 tram in whose company I'm travelling through the heart of my home city of Melbourne on this late autumn afternoon in the year 2019. As we move down Bourke Street, circle past the grand Victorian Parliament House, there is no escaping it. No averted gaze or phone-riveted stare can block the powerful, olfactory truth: here we are bound together in an unpleasant fug. Someone (but who?) has breached the unspoken rule of public transport: do not trespass on another's personal space, and never, but never, get up their nose. Yet, Lord, now here we are, sitting or standing in close confinement; necks craned, heads choreographed in the delicate art of not noticing a thing -what the sociologist Erving Goffman once called the 'civil inattention of modern public space' -some rearing back with a trace of disdain, just so it's clear: 'mistakes were made … but not by me!' At this moment, I'm assuming the collective awkwardness will dissipate as such moments usually do, along with the unedifying air that provoked it. But then, unexpectedly, a woman starts speaking, and I glance over. The first thing that I register is that she is black, an Indigenous woman -in her fifties perhaps. I'm startled by her presence, and then surprised at how taken aback I am at seeing a member of a First Nations people on a tram in the Central Business District. (What is she doing here?) Notwithstanding the decades of avowed multiculturalism in Australia, I actually can't remember the last time I saw an Indigenous person on a tram like this, crammed full with the regular city commuter crowd. On what passes for an average day, the Melbourne metropolis rises up along the Yarra River sparkling like the Lethe, and there are few prompts to sting the white 'quiet majority' into awareness of the original peoples of the land upon which this city was brutally, at times murderously, 'settled'. It is not that I forget this fact, exactly. I neither remember, nor forget. Most days, in much the same way, I neither forget nor remember that I am white. But the unexpected proximity of an Indigenous woman shifts 4