Thursday, February 02, 2017

Running For The Tram

I left work at 4.30pm, somewhat disappointed that ITs fuck up had stopped me from getting right up to date. They were supposed to update my application, but they didn't manage to finish it, from all accounts they hadn’t managed to start it. Damn! I wanted all of last month's figures finished by now. Oh well.

There I am giving a fuck, I suddenly thought as I left the office. I shook my head. I must be getting better? Getting better, I laughed to myself. Getting worse? Better/worse? It is perception, now isn’t it. Even though I don’t like to work all that much, I do it properly when I do it. No half-arsed measures, no, no, no. If it is worth doing, it is worth doing properly. If it is not worth doing properly, don’t do it at all. Stay at home, I approve of staying at home. Yes, I do. That is my life’s mantra. It is just nice lying here, which is much more preferable to working, but if you are going to drag your sorry arse into the office, then make sure you do everything properly, no mistakes, no regrets, then you can go and sit on your arse again, without any worries. That is my life’s moto.

I walked up Collins Street, end of the day, lovely old Collins Street, with its glorious architecture, what is left of it. (The Aleppo end of Collins Street, I thought) A tram passed me heading in my direction, which I decided not to try and catch, lazy, don’t want to run, dragging my feet up the footpath. The sun was shining, the trees dropped shadows dappled to the ground. There were people in the street still wanting to make their last appointments for the day, their last meetings, you can see it, rushing about the place with that hungry look in their eyes.

The tram stopped at the lights up ahead. I glanced back over my shoulder and there was no other tram in sight. Funny, the longer the tram sat at the lights, the more I wanted to catch it. The closer I got to the intersection, the more I wanted to be on that tram to make my escape, get home, beat the crowds, get out of the city. So I started to hurry up the hill. Then I was level with the tram stopped at the same lights, we were neck and neck. I ran across William Street as soon as the lights changed to red – I watched the last car come to a stop on the white line on the red light in William Street, which was a minivan. Momentarily, my mind allowed the minivan to come through the red light, as I ran out in front of it, with me turning side on to it, turning my shoulder towards the front of the van defensively, the van hitting me full on, “Ouch, fuck!” I heard myself call out. I was thrown through the intersection sliding on my arse on the bitumen, tearing my pants and my shirt from my frame. There were gouging injuries to my arms, legs and buttocks, tearing the skin, tearing the flesh, as I slid through the intersection, spinning around in an ever increasing pool of my own blood – I watched my imaginary self slide passed in a microsecond, whoosh, my head turned in microsecond increments, frame by frame.

I looked at the stationary van. Whoosh! I jumped over myself, the trail of flesh and blood, crossing William Street, like a human stain. I crossed over half of Collins Street to the tram stop, in front of a large bus waiting at the lights, coming towards me, that had not started to move as yet. It shook as it built up revs per second. The new tram had slid through to the stop, one of those useless super stops, only implemented so the private contractor that now runs the trams could eliminate city stops without there being a huge public outcry. (The general public are losing IQ points every year, you can see it in who they vote for, for instance, the poisonous red-haired bitch from Queensland, the bag of shit president, and they’ll accept anything that is sold to them)

As I ran up the walkway, a secretary in a dated power suit slid in in front of me – hem just that bit too long, suit just that much too big, hair just that much too blond, piled too high in a bun – slowing me down and holding me up. She was one-eyed in her determination, the unpassable object, she wasn’t allowing me onto the tram before her, no sir! As she marched forth, with everyone else, hooked in, blinkered, their unchangeable course set, one of the old trams slid in behind the new tram, so, at the last moment, I hopped onto the old tram, stepping sideways, breaking away, up the stairs, up into the god’s, some may say, sitting right up the front, like Jackie, as they also say, as I am now used to the new, low rider trams. Most people focussed on the new style tram, like ants on a carcass, it was first into the stop after all, not so many people got onto the old tram, so those of us on the old girl got seats and avoided most of the peak hour crush. Lovely.

I huffed and puffed, as I sat. What is it that Michal Mosley says, short, sharp bursts of exercise are good for losing weight. I wondered if running for the tram counted? It was up a hill, after all, it was for 100 metres, I wondered.

Breath out. Close my eyes. The day is over. The tram rumbled its way through the city underneath me.

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