Two chicks in short black skirts were walking in front of me up Gertrude Street. Coming the other way towards us was a very handsome council worker, close shave, brown hair, blue eyes, six foot, overalls, with a leaf blower in his hand. His mate was driving the little car-thing picking up the leaves he was blowing onto the road. The trimmed-bearded handsome guy noticed the girls checking him out, as he blushed and smiled and did that awkward straight boy thing of looking kind of coy and turned-on all at the same time, as he gazed after the girls, smiling.
The girls sashayed away. Heads forward. High heals clacking on the bitumen footpath. Ponytails swinging in the breeze.
He blew the leaves after that enthusiastically, adjusting his crotch.
Cute boy with machinery in hand blows hard all over footpath. I wouldn’t have been surprised to see drips on his shoes.
His mate in the small orange car – which I have such a desire to drive one day, the car, not the mate – looked like a giant squashed into a small box. His cheeks were pushed up against both side windows. His knees were around his ears. His hands were between his legs, pulling the lever. The circular brooms whirred on the front of the truck, swirling in opposite directions, brushing, sweeping all the debris, that Six-foot-and-eyes-of-blue had blown at him, into the catcher at the front.
It was a lovely morning, warm like honey and blue like hi-def newness. The girls walked away, ahead of me. The council boys flirted, behind me. I crossed the road and headed to my office. The sun sparkled, morning sun, I love it, it is so full of promise, so full of possibility, so full of hope. So full of handsome men and pretty girls. Anything is possible when the morning sun shines.
I'm sure the birds sang.
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