Words

The words began scratching across the white page on a rainy Sunday. No where to go and nothing to see, no money until the next paycheque comes in. No guilty feeling of not being outside on such a nice sunny beautiful day, remaining somewhat in the walls of the hostel for one day. A lot of ideas go through the mind, some of personal hygiene and others being subtle ways of rewarding myself before the Monday comes around the clock. Each day summer comes closer and each day passes by like the dust in the wind. Weather reports of back home send a shiver down my spine and my holiday existence just withers at the thought of snow, rain and early dark hours. Apart from the different types of beers, languages and the shit priced festivals it feels like home. The streets of Sydney aren't filled with wonder anymore, they are filled with familiar faces at the corner stores, buses, cafe and supermarkets. The life of adventure was filled with complications, worries and unclarity. It has come to the point where life is a little more simple, searching the walletless pocket is the new version of checking your account balance. The worried times are answered with the fuck it attitude, it's been done several times before so this time around will be familiar. The regularity of chaos settles in like one more cup of tea. The search for work has come to a halt, I found work landscaping, hard work, but at the end of the day I'm given some yellow and red Aussie notes to keep me happy. The summer rains are keeping all the tradies inside with not much to do other than sit around and bullshit. All different types of stories either of just getting out of the military, university or highschool all of us have one thing more or less in common, we have no spouse, no home, and our youth shines through. Childlike minds with a partying attitude and no thoughts of slowing down. We might as well walk the earth with our heads held high and feel good, even if the hang over from last night's partying hurts. We're only young once so let's live it up!

Fiction.

My heart was beating so fast I thought I was going to croak right there on the spot. I pressed the barrel of my gun harder into the convient store clerk's head I was shouting something what I thought would be itimitating such as : "put the fucking money in the bag you piece of shit!" As he put the money in my bag it was time to run away with my month's rent money. You would be pleased to know that I have been training a lot lately, most of my running colleagues are middle aged husbands getting into shape to give their wives that spark again, but! I have different motives. Running down the streets after my adrenalin was replaced with fatigue I took off the itchy balaclava. The sweat dripping down my face, sweating like a pig in heat. The summer days are passing by if you would try you could smell the autumn slipping but there is still some time.

Back to the aparment, up the stairs to the left straight down the hall and the door reads 112, shabby white walls I sit on my chair and put the bag down. Fuck. I roll a cigarette the bag of Drum I legitimately bought us getting down the last whims of happiness, calm, soothing sweet tobacco; I know I'm addicted. I imagine there are a lot of questions in your head right now, who the fuck is this guy? Why? I would love to say that I'm a badass dude, natural prison mate with tats covering every cubic centimetre of my body, not to mention the gooch and ballsack. Or the cool John Travolta/Sam L. Jackson type of fellow with a black suit and white shirt accompanied by a Tommy Gun, but none of those traits could describe me. If you were to think back to the days of highschool and there was the one kid that was in grade 13 becuase their mind was too slow or uninspired to give a shit sitting in the back fingering the teachers when they turn around, that was me. Seasons came and left, eventually kicked out of the folks house, the only thing I had was good English speaking skills so I took complete adventage of it. My day job is working at a call centre selling drugs to poor son of a bitch bastards with erectile disfunction. Life. Shit.