Be My Yoko Ono
Every Thursday for about a year Nat and I would catch up at Degraves Cafe on Degraves street. Our pays (read: dole checks) would be on alternate Thursdays so one of us would shout the other before we went out (4 months), during (about a month and a bit) and after we broke up (another 4 months) regardless of whatever arguments we may have been having that week. This little bohemian espresso joint with the funky old school cinema chairs would be the ideal place to resolve old arguments and to start a whole host of new ones.
We're sitting there sipping our coffees quickly- it's cold outside and Nat wants to grab a beer somewhere else. 'Do you hear from Nifty at all?' she asks between caffeine gulps. Nifty is Micah's brother. Back in the Arthouse days he and I were the best of friends. Inseparable. Like co-joined twins sharing a heart, like Bert & Ernie sans homosexual undertones. Until Kim. In comes Kim, out goes "inseparable".
'What's Kim like?' asks Nat.
'Honestly? She's Yoko. She has the soul of a scorpion. She'd get upset if you used words that she didn't understand because she thought we'd be making fun of her (which, admittedly, would be a correct assumption most of the time). One day I walked out of my bedroom to find the whole lounge room rearranged by Her. She wasn't even living there at the time!!'
'So what did Nifty see in her?'
Who knows? There's no such thing as a perfect carpet. Love is a rabid rottweiler. It doesn't matter if certain people use your heart as a pinata-you love 'em anyway.
'Did I tell you he's living in a place called Moronville up in Canada? I'm not making this up.'
Nat snorts a mouthful of coffee and laughs. 'What's it like?' she asks when she's sufficiently recovered.
'Haven't got a clue. Seems pretty boring. Of the three phone calls I've got from Nift in the last five or so years I reckon it's one of those places where people drink beer on their rooftops. Shotguns on laps. Box of tissues near their stack of Guns & Ammo.'
Coffees are finished. We get up to get some beer.
Objects in mirror may be fatter than they appear,
Fatman
We're sitting there sipping our coffees quickly- it's cold outside and Nat wants to grab a beer somewhere else. 'Do you hear from Nifty at all?' she asks between caffeine gulps. Nifty is Micah's brother. Back in the Arthouse days he and I were the best of friends. Inseparable. Like co-joined twins sharing a heart, like Bert & Ernie sans homosexual undertones. Until Kim. In comes Kim, out goes "inseparable".
'What's Kim like?' asks Nat.
'Honestly? She's Yoko. She has the soul of a scorpion. She'd get upset if you used words that she didn't understand because she thought we'd be making fun of her (which, admittedly, would be a correct assumption most of the time). One day I walked out of my bedroom to find the whole lounge room rearranged by Her. She wasn't even living there at the time!!'
'So what did Nifty see in her?'
Who knows? There's no such thing as a perfect carpet. Love is a rabid rottweiler. It doesn't matter if certain people use your heart as a pinata-you love 'em anyway.
'Did I tell you he's living in a place called Moronville up in Canada? I'm not making this up.'
Nat snorts a mouthful of coffee and laughs. 'What's it like?' she asks when she's sufficiently recovered.
'Haven't got a clue. Seems pretty boring. Of the three phone calls I've got from Nift in the last five or so years I reckon it's one of those places where people drink beer on their rooftops. Shotguns on laps. Box of tissues near their stack of Guns & Ammo.'
Coffees are finished. We get up to get some beer.
Objects in mirror may be fatter than they appear,
Fatman
posted by Fatman | 3:23 pm
3 Comments:
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Footnotes
1/ The 'in comes (blank) out goes "inseparable"' comment was originally from some ad. There were two old guys who used to be the best of mates and....well you know the rest. Can't remember what it was for. TAB? McDonald's? My hat off to whoever wrote it anyway.
2/ Thought the 'No such thing as a perfect carpet' comment may have been a tad obscure but after ummming and ahhhing for awhile I decided to leave it in. The Persian rug is always weaved with a deliberate flaw somewhere. Their reasoning being that since only God is perfect everything that a human does will be imperfect in some way. After the whole brouhaha over the 'Tower of Babel' stuff and a whole bunch of other arrogant things it's wiser that homo sapiens should be content with things being beautiful if a little imperfect. And sometimes the imperfection in a thing comes to be the thing we like the most about it.
3/ Three days. Three frickin' days is all it took for the comments bit to start filling with useless shite- spam. Screw that. I'm-a put a word lock thingy (technical term) on this here comments bit which I tend to use as a footnote section in as an afterthought ( though the 'perfect carpet' thing was because I couldn't find a suitable link in the alotted time at the internet cafe. Thanks Rugman!)
4/ Finally- "Love is a rabid rottweiler". That's mine. I may never have children or make any money in this lifetime but they can never take that from me.
Hi Hazey
Nice writing dude. only read a few entries and will finish reading the last three years later.
Wish you had been keeping this for nine years. I wouldnl't have even needed to meet up with you dude! (jokes)
I had fun. nice reading about 3 days from the other person's perspective. lucky me to have a friend like you. most people never know.
Miss you already.
Nat
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