Caught up with my good friend B1 and B2 earlier in the week. I thought there was a jazz gig happening at Orleans downtown but I got to the bar just to be told it was the day before, I couldn't believe how I could've read the poster wrong, I had specifically borrowed one from a notice wall at uni to make sure when it was, then I resigned to the fact that it was a genuine mistake bhhaaa who likes stupid jazz anywho well except Art Pepper and Coltrane.
I quickly called my friends on route to New Orleans and so we went to plan b a much better call usually every time and always far more entertaining. The guys were still crawling into the City in a metal box propelled by circular legs. So in the meantime I got a murder burger which was actually bloody great. Tourists and rough sleepers flopped around the food court in quiet resignation their excitement turned to exhaustion demanding power naps and the congestion of fast food deep fried and dangerous.
I thought back to Earlier in the week while eating my chips I was troubled by a coconut water drink I had enjoyed in a food court off Shortland st (I had foolishly chosen to eat at struck down with a colossal inner city hunger risking death life and limb to enjoy a good meal) the reason for my pondering was due to my dad telling me how Monkeys in Thailand are collecting coconuts off trees to supply the demand for the plethora of cheap coconut water drinks available in NZ! Whilst I drank the water my mind subconsciously searched for traces of monkey in the liquid the tests proved inconclusive and got transferred to my fried frontal cortex.
After I finished my walking meal ironically from the same restaurant I once picketed for firing and mis-treating their workers I moved out into the mid-autumn night. I footed down the grey scratched street tiles heading up a flaming hill to High st and waved across the deserted square at my friends 30 metres away blatantly drinking in public near a water fountain spewing out thousands of litres of water. We talked some shit then went to get a drink at the Blue stone room, an old ass place off Queen st, outside the venue littered everywhere like drunk leaches Coporate workers drowned their fractured identities with drink after drink off wine, beer and booze, down the hatch. I ordered a black Monteiths beer, B2 choose one to and the ever smooth B1 got hard liquor on ice most likely a blend.
We had a good yarn about B3's recent trip across the ditch to Melbourne. The geezers were surprised at all the whacked out beggars, bums and junkies on the street, thankfully their hard knock host materialised and made it clear the streetwise are pretty much harmless munters. B3 talked about the amazing amount of legal highs available in Ozzy especially in club bathrooms which they thought might even be not so legal. Well sounded like they had a ripper time just one big drunken blur of debauchery just what the doc ordered. They mentioned the famous street art everywhere and the strong indie music scene with bands and venues going for it even on a Bloody Sunday. I quickly took a piss and we made like the good lord and got the flock out of the bluestone room, note to self find out why they call it that name must be about the stone walls of the building i reckon, but are they earthquake proof.