I searched for Connor Habbib, as I drank my first coffee, he’s a fine boy. I have my wallpaper set to the folders of photos I have collected throughout the year, at present it is on 2013. Connor’s beautiful face was looking back at me this morning. I promise that is the only reason, I’m not normally search for porn stars over breakfast.
Sam came down at 8.30.
As I look around at the dim lounge room with the open fire burning and the cat making crunching sounds in the next room, my eyes felt tired, I wonder what we are going to do today? The days are drifting into one another.
The electricity company is in the lane replacing the street light at 8.45am. It seems a little early to be blocking the laneway for people heading out for the day. I decided to run up to the third floor and have a look. Just two guys with spade.
I paid mum’s bills. A couple of those creditors, I am sure, do a cheer when they get my cheque. (I know, cheques for mum’s bills, its old school) I’m not that diligent with mum’s bills, all that writing, cheques and envelopes) some times it stretches out to 3 months, all except for her accommodation, I pay that, kind of, on time. I don’t want them turfing her out any time soon. So when I get them paid, I want to post them straight away.
I headed out into the grey day, without checking myself in the mirror before I left. It came to mind in the middle of my street, as I crossed the road. All I’d had was 3, um, er, coffees, what did I look like? In my house uniform. As I got to Gertrude Street I thought, well, I’m going to find out any moment in the first shop window. “Oh?” Deflated. Congratulations, I think, you have achieved bag lady status. Old tradie hoodie, a size too big, I think it has a few paint stains on it. My new track pants, now old. (How do you do that to clothes, I hear Edina say) Big woolly socks into which my track pants are tucked, finished off with red crocks. I’d attained some-who-had-officially-given-up status. What happened, I think? It is funny, I often have this very thought as I walk down the Gertrude Street hill to Smith Street. I can remember the multitudes of Christians on this hill, walking that particular piece of footpath. I think I have experienced every possible hour in the day at varying times on the Gertrude Street hill (yes, you do feel it in your calves) up the hill from Smith Street. I think that is the essence of Christian right there on the stretch of footpath.
The rain was drizzling. I scurried across Gertrude Street carefully as the socks were huge.
Letters to post. I think I will always think of Luke as I post my letter in the letter box. “Oh, you know, I had a letter to post,” would be Luke’s stoned words in response to me asking him what sort of day he’d had. For years.
As if to confirm everything I had been thinking, there was Jackson Wag waiting on the corner of my street for me, dressed exactly the same. A mirror image of my decrepitude. We looked like the derelict and his old, queeny brother.
“I came out my door and there were the polemen.”
“Just when I was getting used to the dark.” I said. They took the light out of the lane a few weeks ago. Today they were putting the new one in.
“Dangerous. It was dangerous. I could never find my front door, talk about dark,” said Jackson. I remember the story he told me about coming home maggotted long before the light was ever taken away.
He headed up the laneway waving behind himself as he went.
I headed back in my gate.
I scurried back inside.
But, you know, if you just sit inside your lounge room and do nothing, you have nothing to write about.
Buddha Bar plays chilled out science fiction trance relentlessly.
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