Going For A Walk And Drinking Coffee And Eating Muffins

I have Thursday off.

Bruno and I went for a walk late morning. 

Oh, I'd opened Facebook, which I don't generally do any more as I find it is really boring, actually, mind numbingly boring. And it is the same old rabbit hole down which I slip. I don't know why, but I get this kind of mindlessness when I am on it, scrolling incessantly. Scrolling, scrolling, scrolling. So, at 10am, I tossed it off in disgust, had a shower and then strapped Bruno into his harness, and headed out.

Its been cold this last week, all those pussies from NSW would be winging if they were here. David is in London posting the same look at us 100 years later photos of him and his old London flatmates.

First up, an old couple come walking towards us. They've been together for 60 years. She’s leading. She manages a kind of smile, the smile of pain, with hair hanging down from her forehead and her mouth open. Expression set, unchanging. He follows, mouth open, like a whale shark, set in a grimace, as though moving is too much of an effort, sucking in air. Walking with stiff legs as though joints have now fused solid. Like cadavers set in motion, you could hear their hips squeak if you listened carefully enough.

Next up, sitting outside a cafe in George Street, a couple of Asian ladies one with a small caramel coloured dog on her lap. Bruno spots the other dog and does his I-want-to-say-hello lie down. If Bruno wants to say hello, usually to a dog, he just lies down.

“He’s friendly, he just wants to say hello,” I say.

The lady with the dog in her lap laughs and she puts her dog down on the ground in front of Bruno. I assume she wants her dog to have some socialisation with another dog.

The two dogs sniff noses and say hello. Her dog turns her back on Bruno. 

She giggles at her dog’s interaction with Bruno. She says something to her brunch buddy in a language other than English, and they both laugh.

“How old?” She asks in poor English.

“Four,” I say.

"Oh four," they both say. Not exactly sure why?

A bit more arse sniffing goes on. He dog leaps about a bit.

As Bruno and I walk away she says, “Thank you.”

I look up from that and straight away, a rake thin, socially challenged chick comes towards us from the other side of George Street. “0h bewdiful, bewdiful, oh bewdiful,” she says, in a gravelly voice, smiling the smile of the toothless. Bruno takes no notice. The toothless always seem to have an affinity with dogs. They are always trying to touch Bruno in the street.

I am writing this down in my journal all the way up Gertrude Street. So, Bruno gets to sniff everything and anything he likes as I am distracted.

We gather some speed up down Brunswick Street.

I stop at [French cake shop] cakes and eat a muffin and drink coffee. A guy stops with, now was it, Terry the Schnauzer at the door to the cafe. He tells me that Terry is often the aggressive one with other dogs, and he keeps moving aggressive Terry towards Bruno, as he seems keen to get some socialisation in with Bruno. He constantly cajoles Terry into not being aggressive. Terry and Bruno end up having a piss-a-thon on the old wrought iron post where I am about to tie Bruno to. I think Terry growls a couple of times, but I am assuming because Bruno doesn’t get aggressive, no kerfuffle ensues. the whole thing is a bit odd.

"Okay, well, I'm going to get some coffee here, now."

Terry's owner thanks me.

The Asian guy serving is sweet, he has a hot arse, I notice as he walks back inside after delivering my coffee to the table. A great guy's arse

11.11am. I’m eating a muffin and drinking coffee in out on the tables on the street. I catch the cafe guy's eye. He's giving me a look. Momentarily, I hold his gaze... I chuckle to myself as I look away. When I was in my twenties, I used to pick up guys all over the place. Cafe workers, in the street, in my front garden, on trams, trains, busses... those eyes... and sometimes when I catch a guy in a cafes eye now a days I forget and momentarily I can think... but, now that I'm not in my twenties, they are just looking to see if I want another cup of coffee. I don't want another cup. 

A lady comes along with a Chihuahua and she also seems keen to get some socialisation in with Bruno too. She praises her little midget for behaving well.

I'm not sure what is going on today, maybe it is the way the planets are aligning.

Bruno wants to lie across the footpath, of course, constantly. Well, when you put tables out on the footpath, the area for walking does tend to be diminished. And with a bulldog lying out. I have to keep moving him before the punters get snooty. But, they don't, generally, they are quite enchanted by him.

I get ideas for my (up until that point un-rewritable) short story, Spiritual. Up until that point I didn’t have anything. I had a vague idea about giving some of the dialogue to his mother and his female friend. I get some new passages for it written sitting there, at that café table, with a coffee and a muffin. It just comes. So that is good. Actually, the new bits I finally write tie the story together much better. I'm pleased. Sometimes, it is just about a change of setting to get the old creative juices flowing.

11.37am. We continue our walk. Since it was just supposed to be a walk, and not a morning tea situation. Morning tea, is that too quaint?

The sun come out for the last part of our walk and it is warm on my back.

12.06pm. We’re home.

An hour and a half later…

I walked to Bunnings, to return the industrial scissors and plastic container we didn’t use to fix the kitchen skylight. We use silicone mostly, and some hard plastic we had to fix it.

Two guys are walking behind me down Langridge Street yapping away, really annoying. A pet hate. I’d pick up the pace, but nyr… walking is good, why spoil it.

Still, the sun is shining.

I’m listening to Randy Crawford.

I buy a rhubarb and white chocolate muffin at Baketico by Wonder Pies Collingwood. (128 Langridge St, Collingwood) they don’t have the plethora of muffins on sale that I remember, but they do have a very appealing white chocolate topped rhubarb muffin which I am instantly drawn to. 

The icing is thick white chocolate, as expected and as it turns out, I get it all over my mouth as I eat it.

I’m walking up Cambridge Street and I look in a parked trucks window to see where the icing is stuck on my lip and I wipe it away. A guy backing a car out of a crash repair workshop laughs and says, “You’re beautiful.”

“I’ve got icing all over my lip.” 

We both laugh.

I return the goods in Bunnings, no problem.

I see the warehouse directly behind Bunnings is up for sale as I head back to Fitzroy. So, we’ll probably be getting a bigger Bunnings sometime soon. Sad to be losing a warehouse though.

I see the tradies working on the house opposite us in [my street name] street are leaving Bunnings at the same time as me, I wonder if they’d give me a lift back up to Fitzroy, if I asked? But as I just ate a fatty muffin I have to walk, I am under no illusion.

I’m back on Smith Street pretty quickly heading to the post office to pay the gas bill. There are two big, built, handsome wog boys in tight track pants standing out the front of Coles chatting. Well, hello.

I pay the gas bill in the post office.

There is a big, solid, handsome blond guy walking past the post office when I come out. I follow him up Smith Street. Eyes watching his arse in his sexy washed out jeans.

I walk to St Marks Recycle. In St Marks. I bought a couple of DVDs.

I start heading home. I cross to the other side of Smith Street. I don’t walk too far when I think of The Salvos. Do I? Don’t I? Do I? Don’t I? 

I do.

I look to see if a tram is coming? There’s not. I should walk any way. I walk. The sun is shining, a bit.

I buy an ice peach tea in Woolies Metro.

I pee in the public toilet corner of Kerr Street. You know, one of those modern, automated stink boxes. It was just vile, but, I was drinking Peach Ice tea and I needed a wee all at the same time, I had to do something, you know, any port… As I stood there with my dick out, I glanced to my right and there is a spoon with liquid contents, and a half full saline bottle sitting on the bench by the built into the wall sharps bin disposal. Oh, someone shot up in this vile place. Come on people, let’s get those new safe injecting rooms up and running, is all I could think.

Sam messages me to say he is going to the dentist.

I look through the CDs first in The Salvos first up, then the DVDS.

I walk out of The Salvos with a Bob Dylan CD, and a Joe Cocker CD. I am pleased with both.

I walk home straight up Smith Street. The sun is out. The walk. is good. I’m home just before 3pm.

It was a day for getting things done.