Monday, Monday

Wake @ 7am, play on blogger till 7.45 then decided to watch porn, you know the drill. Roll over, the sun is shining.

Shane's up early and showered and ready before I am, which is unheard of, but I still leave the house first. He doesn't usually get to work till 10am.

Monday morning, a bit wobbly. The sky is blue. Pay all telecommunications bills, home, mobile. I change direction, having left the post office first towards Brunswick street, so as not to walk passed the asbestos house. I'm sure it has been detoxed, when it was wrapped in plastic and yellow tape, but there it sits, no windows open to the breeze.

Walk to Spring Street, catch a tram. Machine out of order, love that. Cute boy sitting opposite me, with head phones, a handsome face, square-jawed and long shiny hair, twentyish, with a nice big bulge. You know those boys who have crotches like the Olgas. He had headphones on. He jiggled his foot constantly. He pulled the bright gold ring on and off his left hand, as he gazed blankly out the window.

I smoked a fag out side work, crotch watching; timing my entry into the building against the pedestrian traffic from King Street traffic lights. Then I get less annoying twats, first thing in the morning. I've realised, just lately, that I don't really talk until about 9.30, once the second coffee kicks in. Dumb cunts in elevators are too much until morning tea.

Easy day.

Still smoking.

Shane's in Sydney.

David is having his back covered in a tattoo.