The words skimmed like drops across glass- sliding across the paper. I put the book down. A crushed cigarette butt burnt like foul incense, blue curls rising from a full ashtray. I stared at the book and the ashtray. A biting ennui crawled under my skin. Two days without work.
I sat up, sudden. I left the kitchen, and pulled on a wool jacket, felt dry and warm, but cloistered. I pulled on a boot one at a time, balancing with haste. I walked out of the room without shutting the door, crossed the dark and musty living room, and opened the front door past the mudroom. I swung it shut behind me without stopping, without looking. I heard the clunk of the latch as I stepped over the flooded gutter into the street. Faint light burnt coming near from my left. I hurried. The car past behind me with the splayed sound of wet ashphalt. I bent forward, burning.
I turnt with the street, following the crusty sidewalk jagged with the roots of a boxgum pushing. The tall gums marched along steady in a row, blocking the majority of the street lights. I walked in the shadows, stepping into shallow puddles, dodging the deep sections. The traffic flowed in a din that echoed off the redbrick homes pushed back from the street. The verandahs, tiled with rich mosaics, were empty.
The sky opened in steady drizzle. It grew dense, swiftly. I felt my bare head plaster as my hair caught the pour. I walked off the path, took refuge under a sole fig tree, carefully balanced under an outstretched limb. My upper torso stayed mostly dry, but the rain began soaking my exposed pant legs as I leant back against the tree.
I watched the rain fall sideways in a lightshow under the cold street light. It seemed to grow heavier. I thought of turning back as I looked for an eave to wait under. A trickle began down the sheltered limb, landing steady on my shoulder.
I crossed out from under the fig, walking with splodgey haste from tree to tree. At the end of the block, across an intersection before a roundabout, I spotted an eave jutting over the stairs of a dark tenement. I began to run, wet hair slapping across my forehead. The sidewalk was hard against the balls of my feet, and I angled towards the bouncing grass. A car slowed down as I ran cross the intersection. I stopped under the eave. I watched a flow of eager cars merge through the roundabout. The light was cold, a sudden bright. The rain eased.
I jogged down the rest of the block, turning into a service station. A lady stood pumping fuel into a small white car, watched as I cross the lot. At the station entrance, a security guard bore down an accusing look on me, bored. I scowled at him as the doors slid open, walking by him. I made it to the self serve coffee machine and pulled out a paper cup from a stack. Working the touch screen, I watched the machine gurgle out a brown froth, and turned away. I walked over to the hot bin and pondered stale chicken fingers. I turned back, walking past the coffee machine, and stared at the rows of overpriced snacks. I thought of putting one in my pocket, even though I did not want it. I remembered how petty theft made me feel, and pushed away the idea. I walked back to the machine. The cup was full with white froth. I put my finger in it, and stirred. I licked the froth and tasted warm milk. I stirred again, and it tasted like warm milk. I picked up the cup, walked it to the counter where a silent man stood watching me.
"This is just milk."
The man feigned surprise.
"Oh sorry, it's been doing that."
"Ah."
A silence followed.
"Can I try again?"
"Sure man, sure."
I walked back to the machine. I grabbed another cup. I worked the screen, and watched the machine gurgle a brown froth momentarily before fading to water. It stopped and milk started pouring in. I canceled it, and left the cups sitting in the drip tray. At the sliding glass door, I turned to the man behind the counter at a distance.
"Thanks."
He smiled a kind of sorry smile, and said goodbye. I said goodbye walking.
The rain had stopped. I crossed a double lane highway, pausing at the meridian in the centre. A small bunch of vehicles, unified by the courses of traffic lights, passed. I felt awkward, exposed. I moved swift, and bounced off the first step up the gutter, back onto the sidewalk.
I walked with a clunk against the brick pathway, echoing off heel strike. Cars passed going the opposite way to my left. Under a wide awning, a middle aged man and woman grew quiet in their conversation as I passed. A cigarette was burning in the woman's left hand.
The street grew dark again for a stretch, before the corner of the main drag lit up again with stores. Nearly all were shut, but their lights remained on inside. A man sat on the step outside one, staring ahead. A forgotten cigarette was in glow in-front of his face.
On the corner, a white bright convinance store illuminated row's of synthetic American snacks, un-bought. A sheepish woman with slumped shoulders stood at the counter, buying a vape.
As I turned into the heaving street, rows of tenements adorned the sleek glow of the central ashphalt. A bored young woman stood behind the counter of a late night chemist. A man in a dirty hoodie glared at me as I stared inside. Across the road, past a silent rows of newsagents and rug stores, the north-Indian place on the corner bustled. Gentle couples sat close bent over their curries. Others stood near the entrance, waiting for takeaway. A constant shift of traffic moved out and into the nearest carparks, parallel to to the footpath. Across the side street, opposite the north-Indian place, an old Irish pub glowed eerie in low warm light. A practiced bouncer eyed me off as I peered into the windows, making uncomfortable eye contact with the tenants inside, bent over their pints. The street was filled with empty tables, outside low lit bars. The warmth of overhead heaters tempted me to stop. In the window of an Italian restaurant, I read the menu. Ten dollar pasta special, with a drink. I studied the drink menu, disappointed. A lady inside mouthed the words, it's good.
I repeated the words silently through the glass. She smiled and nodded. They were the only ones inside. I turned away, and kept walking.
I studied the other side of the street, imagining a cheap cup of something warm. The only places open were gaudy bars and overpriced restaurants.
I walked in swift rhythm, passing slow groups. The street grew darker, and less foot traffic flowed till I reached the end of the stretched street. I turned left, walking through the dark towards the glow of a blue and yellow service station. The street here was near empty, save a lady pacing in front of a bus stop, hidden under a hood. As I passed a bottle shop, the attendant walked back behind his counter and watched me pass.
I walked into the service station. I grabbed a small cup, and pushed the button marked 'masala' on the machine. The cup filled steaming with golden smells. I brought the cup to the counter. The attendant asked disappointed if it that was all. I looked at the hot bin full with decaying fired matter.
"That's it thanks."
I left, noticing the coloured height identifier on the door on the way out. The street was dark, and a long stretch of tall figs opened out into a large gloomy park. The openness felt eerie. I walked back the way I'd come, looking for a place to sit and drink the tea, reluctant to stop near the dark park. I reached a bus stop, but felt grim. Across the road a titled stage jutted off the edge of a shut pub. I crossed the empty road, and put my cup on the stage at chest height, and pulled myself up. It was wet and slippery under my worn boots. I squatted by the cup, and pulled a crumpled packet of cigarettes out of the pocket of the damp jacket. I paced one in my lips, pocketed the packed with two cigarettes left, and pulled a lighter out of the same pocket. I lit the cigarette behind a cupped hand, took a deep draw, and looked up into the street.
The lady in the hood kept pacing. Intermit cars buzzed by with speed, and the noise was overwhelming with the tiles echo. I took a deep sip of tea. It was full of flavour, if a little off tasting, but the warmth was gratifying.
I finished the cigarette slowly, and sculled the bottom half of tea. The cigarette hissed as I dropped it in the small puddle of gold left. I hopped down from my perch, careful on the wet tile. My legs were stiff. I turned home.