Days of Leisure

My authotics... er, um, (is that a foot writer?) orthotics are in for adjustment, a bump here, an addition there. I haven't had them looked at since I got them. Hunky podiatrist, Sean, didn't seem to think it was an indictable offence. I didn't at all mind him holding my bare feet, as he did his tests. Warm hands, even if he did have latex gloves on.

Wow, did it feel funny walking down to get my hair cut without them. I haven't walked any where sans arch props forever. I felt like a bloody cripple struggling along Smith Street, like a chick on too higher heals, or a boy having danced all night.

My hairdresser and I sat in the sun filled front window and drank tea and chatted.

We don't need to rush, he said. Do you need to rush, he asked?

No, I said.

He studied hotel management, but works as a hairdresser. I told him how I work in finance but want to be a writer. He said fiction was for girls, they like the emotional stuff. I caught myself making eyes at him and wondered what the hell is wrong with me lately. I don't think he picked up on it. We ate chocolate éclairs, the Pascals variety and not the cream filled ones.

I bought pork rolls as I drift home again in the softening afternoon light.

There's a Priceline on Smith Street? I wondered how long it had been there. Maybe, I have seen it before, I wasn't sure. It's where the dirty book shop used to be. Ah, that guy behind the counter who surprised me and some what excited me by suggesting that a fitting for a cock ring was necessary, when I was first coming out. I may have been young and inexperienced but I was sure him putting it in his mouth shouldn't have been a part of the process. Funny the things you remember. I thought I'd use the dirty book shop more than a Priceline, despite using neither of them regularly.

The trams ding-dinged and the cars tooted. The drunks were conspiratorial on the street benches. The men talked on mobile phones in languages other than English. The Greek grandmother struggled along the footpath laden with shopping bags, her chubby face flushed red. I contemplated buy some new white Bonds T-shirts, but couldn’t be bothered. All I could think of was home, the couch and my book. I'll probably regret it in a month, or so, when I can no longer walk down Smith Street at will.

Ah, days of leisure, I'm going to miss them.