Sunday, July 17, 2005

T19.23:15.16.07.05

I was waiting for the Japanese girls to come clubbing in Crown. With another group of friends, which I've only met 3 hours ago.
One of those 'what the fuck I'm doing' moments.
When they finally arrived(which is a whole 45 minutes late) later, I was hit by this major exhaustion.
The exhaustion of waiting. Sick and tiring.
We were already in front of the club, but I decided not to go after all. I started walking back for the last tram.
On my way back to Flinders street, I decided to make a movie out of it, if I were to be a director. The movie titled 'Wait'. I made up my mind on that while crossing to South Bank.
On the bridge I thought of picking up smoking. The reasons to pick up smoking now outnumber the reasons for me NOT to.
Three drunk guys in front of me were yelling gibberish. Stan, Waldo and Danny. Couldn't even walk straight if their lives depended on it.
Upon entering the Flinder Station tunnel, I saw two policemen and a policeperson. The three stooges were cracking jokes. A few paces later Danny yelled: DO YOU KNOW WHO MY FATHER IS?
I assume it was intended for the policemen, as clearly his father could be Nelson Mendela for all I care.
Along the tunnel came two women dressed up in Arabic genie costume. Back from party, maybe. With wrinkles that matches the colour of their skirts, they gave the stooges an 'I Love Jeanie' wink and nod. I could hear trains commuting above us.
Waldo said something like: Fuck off, bitch.
I parted with the stooges at the traffic light and sat on the bench. Tram 19 was not coming for another 10 minutes.
It's been a while since I experience pre-midnight darkness in Melbourne city. The night was dry and uninviting.
I've nearly forgotten about the midnight dwellers of Melbourne.
A girl who's just finished work was texting her phone. Walking around was an old man, asking for changes so that he could buy cheap liquor. A fat man was munching away his cheesburger on the next bench. I saw Santa pushing a trolley without his uniform. Across the street, two guys were fighting each other. Alan and Marlon.
Tram 59 pulled up.
Looking at a young punk spitting on the floor before he went up the tram I felt as if I've intruded a different life style.
At the beginning of the night I was thinking: oh what the heck, I've broken up, I'm going clubbing, I'm gonna crash big time.
But as Marlon was punching Alan's face, I realised that breaking up has nothing to do with my desire to club.
I still hate it like how I hate mushrooms, broken up or not.
Marlon's girlfriend tried to stop the fight and got in between the two of them. She got pushed away. The brawl continued.
Unlike Bollywood movies, fighting in real life has no bone crunching sound. No grunts, no stance. Just two zombies swaying their flesh on each other. There wasn't even blood.
Eventually Marlon got dragged away by his girlfriend. Tram 59 left with a 'ding', accompanied by Alan's cry of 'Asshole!'
Then I realised the fat cheeseburger guy was gone. Must've left when Alan was giving Marlon the right upper hook. Everything fell silent, except for the electric jabs of the tram cable.
I felt as if there was a gap in the whole 'midnight' feel. We, the night dwellers, need a guy fat guy eating burger to complete the picture.
What the hell, I thought. Taking out my wallet, I walked towards McDonald's. Started thinking of a high school senior of mine who'd order a Fillet o' fish without tartar sauce.