The Morning

I am editing my blog for most of the morning. It is taking forever, the reformatting and the date labels.

Latish in the morning, I take Bruno for a walk. (Oh, I just can’t sit on the couch all day. The sun is shining 

Bruno is slow up Gertrude Street, he always is. By the time we are heading down Brunswick Street Bruno is trotting along quite well

The dope on a rope pitbull is outside the commission flats, across the road. It is always out in the street, when we go for a walk. I think it must live in the commission flats. It is coloured like a hyena and it always barks. Bark, barks, barks, its usual I-want-to-kill-you bark when it spots Bruno. Bruno, appearing to be completely oblivious, decides to take a shit right at that moment and he turns his back on the barking dog and takes a dump. I can see the symbolism in that, even if Bruno can’t.

We meet the cutest Pug. The girl walking him seems to be apprehensive until I tell her Bruno is friendly, at which she releases the tension on the pug’s lead. He’s a lovely colour. The two flat faces press against each other sniffing. The girl walking the pug giggles.

We come face to face with a Frenchie walked by a young couple. The guy is cute and smiley, they both seem young. I think, that Frenchie sure does look like Pascal, Bruno’s nemesis, as the two dogs are nose to nose, just as the Frenchie gives a growl. 

I say, “That’s not Pascal, is it.” And just as the couple say, “Yes, it is.” I grab Bruno by the harness just as he appears to work out it is Pascal, and he really starts to growl.

They must be walking him for [names of Pascal’s owners] “Oh, they hate each other,” I say.

The young couple say, “Really?” Surprised to hear me say that.

“I don’t know why,” I say. “I think it is because Pascal used to bite Bruno as a puppy.” I know that is the reason.

They pull Pascal away. Their mouths are forming ‘O’s

We turn into Johnson Street

The English bull terrier was in the tattoo shop doorway. As he starts to spin around aggressively behind the double glass doors, Bruno steps up nonchalantly to the double doors and pisses on then. It looks so funny. This is how much I care about you.

We turn into Smith Street.

11.50am. We’re in St Marks Recycle I get a Bob Dylan CD, New Morning.

We head home.

We meet my nice lady neighbour from across the road at our gate.

“Do you go to the film festival?” she asks.

“Oh, yes, I did. I have,” I say. “But not for a while.”

“No, I haven’t for a while,” she says. “But I have just started going again. I’ve just seen a great French movie at iMax.”

“My friend who I used to go with, (David) who used to organise me to go, moved to the Northern Rivers a few years ago, and I haven’t gone since.”

“I’ve just been to the chiropractor, now,” she says. She laughs. “As I sat through a 3 hour Turkish movie yesterday and I think it fucked my back.”

“Oh, those Turks,” I say. “They will do it to you every time.” I immediately think of Racco that summer holiday, and those shorts that barely fitted him, almost failed to contain all of him, and how I’d never let him stick that monster he kept in them up my arse, much to his disappointment, and despite his cajoling. Ha ha, the things that go through your mind in a split second.

She laughs and crosses the road.

Bruno and I head inside to the couch.

I only get off the couch to make my famous (Ha, ha, well, if I don’t say it nobody else will) Bolognese sauce for dinner and the freezer.