East
I’m walking up the street, one of the big ones where the traffic rushes by day and night, and it’s near to the place you used to live. It’s nighttime, and it’s bitterly cold – the kind of cold that keeps your nose watering no matter how often you blow it. This cold would drive my mother insane – when I was young she was always saying ‘blow it’ to me when I would sniff, but I never had a handkerchief. I still don’t, although I don’t know why. I never got into the habit of them, I guess, and people stopped buying them for me at Christmas years ago. I’m wearing my new leather jacket and woolen hat, and I haven’t got used to the cold here yet. Layering, I’m told – wear layers of clothes and remove or replace as you go in or out of places. I guess so; I guess this is why it takes so long to leave anywhere this time of year. Maybe it’s why I don’t go out as often anymore. Or maybe there are other reasons for that.
The next weekend, though and it’s unseasonably warm, and everyone is out in the bars and clubs, celebrating the reprieve from the weather. I’m out too – I’m with my friend, another ex-pat with the same name as me. We’re going to your old neighbourhood again, to a new bar that wasn’t there when you were, and it’s not far from your old place, and it makes me think of you. We’re meeting some friends of his, some Australian girls who have been here longer than either of us. Mostly I feel as though everyone has been here longer than me because I still don’t feel at home here; I’ve been here about 6 months now, but I keep leaving and coming back, and I just can’t feel as though it’s my town, or my suburb, or my apartment. I love coming down here though, to your old neighbourhood, because there are always things to do here, things going on, because the locals are funny and friendly, and because it reminds me of you.
I find their apartment building about 8 blocks or so from the underground, and I’m glad to get in from the cold. The doorman looks at me and asks who I’m looking for, and I don’t really know so I just mention the one person I know who is staying there for the night, and it works because I am allowed to go up and in and to their apartment. And my friend answers the door eventually, and we go upstairs because it’s a split level place, and I can’t help but wonder how expensive it must be to rent this place. They’re in computers, I later learn, although right now they’re just the people at the top of the stairs. I haven’t seen this friend, another one with my name, for some time, as he lives in another town. He’s visiting some friends, these ones who live here, and it’s good to see him, because he’s shy but a fun person, and he laughs well once you get him started. They’ve got the television running in the corner, and everyone is staring at it in that kind of non-thinking way that people do, and I’m doing it too because I haven’t seen a television for a while, and I find it kind of hypnotic, with the flashing lights drawing my attention, even if I’m not taking anything it tells me in. But we’ve all said hello, and we don’t really know each other, and we’re all waiting for something to happen, apparently.
We walk in to this new bar, the one that wasn’t here last time you were, and there are a lot of people drinking a lot of drinks and making a lot of noise, and it feel good to move through it. And as we walk my friend hears someone call his name out and moves in that direction, and a girl comes over and hugs him and kisses his cheeks to say hello. And then he moves around the table, kissing or shaking hands with everyone there, and he introduces me to everyone and I shake a few hands too. They’ve already got the waitress over, and we order some vodkas to start with. This isn’t really our start, though, because we’ve been drinking across the river earlier today with a guy from my work who we both know. So I’m already in a good mood, I guess; it feels that way, anyway. And the girl next to me is talking to me and asking questions about me to find out a little bit about me, and I’m answering her in a good way which makes her smile and me smile. She’s the best friend of the other Australian girl, the one who my friend has known for years, and she seems like a nice person. She’s already ordering some more vodka.
We decide to leave, eventually, when the brother of someone turns up and says another friend of theirs won’t be coming over; there’s general disappointment at this, but I don’t know him so I don’t really feel anything about it. Everyone is layering themselves except for me, because I already have my leather jacket on, and I’ll put my woolen hat on when I get downstairs, and I do just that after we get past the little old lady who is walking about 7 of those little yapping dogs, the type that no one can remember the name of. Outside and we’re all cold now, and when the sister of the brothers, who are all Irish in case I didn’t mention it, realises that she needs some money we all crowd inside the little glass room which has the machine to give her some money in it. There was already someone in there, and I think he gets a little scared when we all come in, and he seems to be rushing his transaction so he can get out and away. We keep walking after she gets her money, and we are going to that German place which is just down from the Brazilian bar we went to that time, and it makes me think about that night and that place, and all I can remember is the black and blood red of the place for some reason, the gloom with nothing but those small lights over our heads at the bar where we talked and laughed and flirted and drank those lime filled drinks that the barman made, and the toilet all dull copper because the walls are completely covered in copper coins. They’re both closed, though, the German place and the Brazilian place, because it’s a public holiday.
We’re still in the bar, and I’m talking to Sean, and he’s the boyfriend of the girl who is my friend’s friend, if that makes sense. I can’t quite remember her name right now, so you’ll have to bear with me. And we’re talking about where we are going tonight, and he tells me he’s going clubbing, and I say oh I didn’t know we were going clubbing – I would have dressed for it if I did. And he says no, you guys are going drinking, we’re going clubbing, and as he says that two more girls turn up and say hello and there are more people for me to forget the names of. It turns out that Sean is going clubbing with these two girls while his girlfriend goes drinking with my friend and I and her friend and whoever is left over, and this seems odd, but they seem perfectly happy with the arrangement. Maybe they’ve been together for a long time and just trust each other, or maybe they don’t care – I can’t quite work out which – but as I’m thinking about this more vodkas arrive and my friend decides to make a toast, a toast to friendship, and we all drink to that because we’re all from somewhere else and have managed to find each other on this almost warm winter night.
There’s a general disappointment that the German place is closed; no one apart from me is disappointed about the Brazilian place because I didn’t mention it, I just noticed it was closed as we walked past, and there didn’t seem to be any point in pursuing the thought. But we’re out and we have to go somewhere, so we walk another block or two to a bar on the corner which is offering Guinness in the window, and we decide to go in. it doesn’t look too promising when we get inside, and it isn’t. None of us have Guinness after all, but a local beer which seems to be flat, but everyone has de-layered and are prepared to finish them anyway, if for no other reason than to put off going into that bitter cold again. The siblings are chatting, and my friend is trying to bring me into the conversation, and I’m trying to join, but my head isn’t working tonight, and I can’t be as effortlessly charming as I can sometimes be on other nights, and I’m struggling. I feel as if I’m not here, as if I’m a ghost sitting next to some people and occasionally eavesdropping on their conversation. I look around the bar and notice a lot of the locals here have made a big effort to out cool each other, as they have got the uniforms and the haircuts and the tattoos and maybe even the piercings and they all lounge around with their friends, drinking their drinks, and hoping to be seen by somebody. And even though I feel like a ghost here someone is talking to me now, and I should answer them. Excuse me.
And the time comes when someone decides it’s time for us to go. So Jo kisses Sean goodbye, because that’s her name and I can’t believe I forgot it, but then I seem to do that a lot, and he and the two girls get into a cab and drive off and we start walking, past the delis and the Laundromats and the other bars and the park and the video store with all the movies we won’t see in it and past the pizza place I went to last week. And we come up to that bar, the one where you and I went that time when you didn’t have any ID on you so we had to go back to your place and get some, and this time two of the three girls with my friend and I don’t have ID either, and I almost laugh out loud when I hear this but I managed to keep it in. One of the girls that doesn’t have any ID says to the doorman that she knows the owner, and his name is Fred and he said to come down anytime, and the guy behind the doorman hears this and says sure come on in, and we don’t even need to pay. So we buy more vodka and drink to our good fortune. We have a spot at the end of the bar, and this seems like a good spot to be because the DJ is right next to us, and I start dancing with the friend of the friend of my friend, and I should have mentioned before that her name is Dawn because that’ll make things so much easier to describe. Dawn and I are dancing, and I can tell that I’m drunk now because it was my idea, and no one else is dancing because there are signs all around the bar to say that you are not allowed to dance here. This seems stupid when there is a DJ playing, and just as I’m thinking that (right now) I jump and make the record jump, and everybody looks at me and I probably blush, but it’s dark enough that no one can see that. After this lots of other people come and dance in front of the DJ, so Dawn and I take the three or so steps and rejoin the group, right in time for my friend to give us some more vodka.
They were telling me that we’re going, because they were giving me a warning to layer up, but all I can do is put on my jacket, so I do that and wait. We get back outside and it’s cold and biting, which I’d forgotten about because the seat we sat on was heated – it was so hot that it started to melt my friend’s fleece as he sat there. It doesn’t get this cold where I live, he says, as if reading my mind. We’re only going a block I think, and as we wait at the corner for the lights to change I look at the gutter and see that the water is frozen there, and when we cross I make a point of standing on it to see if it will crack. It doesn’t. We go into a new bar and have some more beers, local beers from a local brewery, and the beer is strong and good this time, and it doesn’t take us long to start to feel better than we have all night. A few more and we are all talking as if we are old friends, and we’re asking each other questions about ourselves and finding out all of the things there are to know. If you listen carefully you should be able to listen in, if the music’s not too loud for you.
So she’s talking to me, Dawn that is (or maybe it’s Jo – it’s hard to tell; it’s really dark and we’re all drunk), and she’s asking me where I go to when I go out, and I don’t really know what to tell her because I don’t really go out that much at the moment. I tell her that I’ve been here before, but that I went downstairs that time, and I tell her it’s difficult to find people to go out with. She tells me that she had the same problem, but you just have to try to stay in contact with people, because no one ever calls you if you don’t make the effort first. She’s right, I think to myself, and I have to learn to do this. My friend had said the same thing earlier in the night, in the cab on the way to the first bar. I look around to see where he is, because he had been dancing with the third girl, probably against her will, up on the dance floor just a few minutes ago. The music is throbbing – some bass heavy thing with a great piano riff over the top of it – but he’s not there. And then he taps me on the shoulder and gives me another vodka and I laugh at myself. We drain these and my friend says toodle-oo, because that’s something he says, unfortunately, and then I’m in a cab with the girls going somewhere else. At least I assume he said toodle-oo as he’s not here now, but I can’t quite remember him leaving, and I figure he must have said goodbye before he left because he always does.
I’m talking to one of the brothers, Brian I think it is, and he’s talking about what it was like to live here when he was here a few years ago. He’s the flatmate of my friend now, I’ve just found out, and that’s how everyone knows each other. Apart from me, of course. And he says that it’s hard at first – this is a hard city – but once you get a few friends it all flows from there, and before you know it you’re a local and feel like you know everybody in the whole city. A girlfriend helps of course, he says, because she can introduce you to a group of her friends, and then you know another group. I think of you when he says this, of course, and I wonder what would have happened if you were still here. Things would be different, that’s for sure. But he’s still talking, so I start listening again, until he goes to the toilet and we play tag team conversation with the remaining people there. My friend comes over now, and I can tell that he’s very drunk because he’s never been able to drink much, and he asks me if I’m happy. I’m trying to be, I tell him, and that seems to be enough for him right now.
We’re in the cab and driving across town, and everyone is talking all at once, and I’m smiling fit to burst. We stop at some lights, and the other girl jumps out after kissing everyone goodbye, and then it’s just Dawn and Jo and me, and we go back to Jo’s place because that’s what she says we’re doing, and I’m not going to argue with her. We go there and have another drink, because we can rather than because we need it, and she gets changed or something and then we’re outside again and walking down the road to some club which has changed hands and we just have to go there and check it out, and I say okay then. We get there quickly because who can remember how long time takes when you’re drunk, and we’re up the stairs and taking off our coats and getting some more money and buying drinks and standing by the dance floor before we even realise it. And when we do realise it we also realise that they are the only girls in the place, and there are a lot of guys here without shirts on, and all three of us laugh like drains. I didn’t know I can hear Jo saying, but none of us care too much. We drain the drinks, the ones that might be the last or might be the ones that lead us to even more, and we push through the crowd because we want to see and be seen, and the crowd lets us through because they don’t quite know what to make of us and they want to find out more.
The bar closes, of course, because that’s what bars do, so we re-layer and go out and up the road, walking a few blocks closer to their apartment. One of the brothers, Brian probably, asks if anyone’s hungry, and of course we all realise that we are. So he steers us across the road and into a pizza place, and as soon as that smell hits us we’re all gone, and none of us can wait for the pizza to be ready, even though we have to. And when it comes there’s no talk at all, which isn’t too surprising, and no thought either, at least until it’s gone. It’s only as I’m walking out that I realise that I’m only a few blocks from your old place, and a drunken thought in my head says to go over there, but there’s no point because you’re not there and these people are here and I’m walking with them until it’s time for me to head down the road to the train station and to go home. And, later, I’m on the train and I’m on the way home, and I get my book out to start reading, but of course I can’t read because I’m too drunk, and because it’s 3.00 in the morning and it’s no time for reading. So I’m sitting there, watching the stations come and go, and there’s a homeless guy sitting opposite me trying to play an electric guitar without any electricity. He is engrossed in what he’s doing, and I guess I am too. He can’t play – that much is obvious without the noise – but it doesn’t stop him from hitting the strings for all he’s worth. There’s no one else on his side of the carriage – everyone other than me has gone to the other end of the carriage – but he hasn’t noticed a thing. He’s got a cap at his feet, but there’s nothing in it. I throw whatever coins I have into it, but he doesn’t see it. I touch his hand for some reason, I don’t really know why, and he stops instantly and looks at me, and I feel as though an electric charge has passed through us, and I ask him to play something quiet. He looks me in the eye, and he starts to sing, something about solid air, and he strums as he sings. And he does this until my station arrives, and he says goodnight as I get out, and I say goodnight back to him as they close the doors. I turn and walk upstairs and go home, a full moon lighting my way.
We have to leave some time, of course, so we leave now. Don’t ask me what time it is. We’re all in the back of the cab we eventually stopped, and they’re throwing money at me because I have to go the furthest distance so I’ll be in here last. And they go, Dawn and Jo, and I kiss them goodbye as they do. After that we’re on the way home, the cab driver and me, and I’m watching the city slide past because I love to do this; I love to see the world flow around and above and below me when I’m not touching it. You can see all kinds of things as you drive past – if you look out the window you might see a couple fighting, some drunk guys pissing against a building, someone trying in vain to hail my cab. I see all of these things as I drive by. And before I realise it I’m almost home, and I get the driver to stop at the train station because I feel like walking the rest of the way home. I pay him and start walking, the sun just starting to make its presence known, and there is a guy asleep on a park bench just by the station entrance. I leave him where he is, and walk the two blocks home, thinking about the night I had, and hugging myself to warm up.
(January 2001)
The next weekend, though and it’s unseasonably warm, and everyone is out in the bars and clubs, celebrating the reprieve from the weather. I’m out too – I’m with my friend, another ex-pat with the same name as me. We’re going to your old neighbourhood again, to a new bar that wasn’t there when you were, and it’s not far from your old place, and it makes me think of you. We’re meeting some friends of his, some Australian girls who have been here longer than either of us. Mostly I feel as though everyone has been here longer than me because I still don’t feel at home here; I’ve been here about 6 months now, but I keep leaving and coming back, and I just can’t feel as though it’s my town, or my suburb, or my apartment. I love coming down here though, to your old neighbourhood, because there are always things to do here, things going on, because the locals are funny and friendly, and because it reminds me of you.
I find their apartment building about 8 blocks or so from the underground, and I’m glad to get in from the cold. The doorman looks at me and asks who I’m looking for, and I don’t really know so I just mention the one person I know who is staying there for the night, and it works because I am allowed to go up and in and to their apartment. And my friend answers the door eventually, and we go upstairs because it’s a split level place, and I can’t help but wonder how expensive it must be to rent this place. They’re in computers, I later learn, although right now they’re just the people at the top of the stairs. I haven’t seen this friend, another one with my name, for some time, as he lives in another town. He’s visiting some friends, these ones who live here, and it’s good to see him, because he’s shy but a fun person, and he laughs well once you get him started. They’ve got the television running in the corner, and everyone is staring at it in that kind of non-thinking way that people do, and I’m doing it too because I haven’t seen a television for a while, and I find it kind of hypnotic, with the flashing lights drawing my attention, even if I’m not taking anything it tells me in. But we’ve all said hello, and we don’t really know each other, and we’re all waiting for something to happen, apparently.
We walk in to this new bar, the one that wasn’t here last time you were, and there are a lot of people drinking a lot of drinks and making a lot of noise, and it feel good to move through it. And as we walk my friend hears someone call his name out and moves in that direction, and a girl comes over and hugs him and kisses his cheeks to say hello. And then he moves around the table, kissing or shaking hands with everyone there, and he introduces me to everyone and I shake a few hands too. They’ve already got the waitress over, and we order some vodkas to start with. This isn’t really our start, though, because we’ve been drinking across the river earlier today with a guy from my work who we both know. So I’m already in a good mood, I guess; it feels that way, anyway. And the girl next to me is talking to me and asking questions about me to find out a little bit about me, and I’m answering her in a good way which makes her smile and me smile. She’s the best friend of the other Australian girl, the one who my friend has known for years, and she seems like a nice person. She’s already ordering some more vodka.
We decide to leave, eventually, when the brother of someone turns up and says another friend of theirs won’t be coming over; there’s general disappointment at this, but I don’t know him so I don’t really feel anything about it. Everyone is layering themselves except for me, because I already have my leather jacket on, and I’ll put my woolen hat on when I get downstairs, and I do just that after we get past the little old lady who is walking about 7 of those little yapping dogs, the type that no one can remember the name of. Outside and we’re all cold now, and when the sister of the brothers, who are all Irish in case I didn’t mention it, realises that she needs some money we all crowd inside the little glass room which has the machine to give her some money in it. There was already someone in there, and I think he gets a little scared when we all come in, and he seems to be rushing his transaction so he can get out and away. We keep walking after she gets her money, and we are going to that German place which is just down from the Brazilian bar we went to that time, and it makes me think about that night and that place, and all I can remember is the black and blood red of the place for some reason, the gloom with nothing but those small lights over our heads at the bar where we talked and laughed and flirted and drank those lime filled drinks that the barman made, and the toilet all dull copper because the walls are completely covered in copper coins. They’re both closed, though, the German place and the Brazilian place, because it’s a public holiday.
We’re still in the bar, and I’m talking to Sean, and he’s the boyfriend of the girl who is my friend’s friend, if that makes sense. I can’t quite remember her name right now, so you’ll have to bear with me. And we’re talking about where we are going tonight, and he tells me he’s going clubbing, and I say oh I didn’t know we were going clubbing – I would have dressed for it if I did. And he says no, you guys are going drinking, we’re going clubbing, and as he says that two more girls turn up and say hello and there are more people for me to forget the names of. It turns out that Sean is going clubbing with these two girls while his girlfriend goes drinking with my friend and I and her friend and whoever is left over, and this seems odd, but they seem perfectly happy with the arrangement. Maybe they’ve been together for a long time and just trust each other, or maybe they don’t care – I can’t quite work out which – but as I’m thinking about this more vodkas arrive and my friend decides to make a toast, a toast to friendship, and we all drink to that because we’re all from somewhere else and have managed to find each other on this almost warm winter night.
There’s a general disappointment that the German place is closed; no one apart from me is disappointed about the Brazilian place because I didn’t mention it, I just noticed it was closed as we walked past, and there didn’t seem to be any point in pursuing the thought. But we’re out and we have to go somewhere, so we walk another block or two to a bar on the corner which is offering Guinness in the window, and we decide to go in. it doesn’t look too promising when we get inside, and it isn’t. None of us have Guinness after all, but a local beer which seems to be flat, but everyone has de-layered and are prepared to finish them anyway, if for no other reason than to put off going into that bitter cold again. The siblings are chatting, and my friend is trying to bring me into the conversation, and I’m trying to join, but my head isn’t working tonight, and I can’t be as effortlessly charming as I can sometimes be on other nights, and I’m struggling. I feel as if I’m not here, as if I’m a ghost sitting next to some people and occasionally eavesdropping on their conversation. I look around the bar and notice a lot of the locals here have made a big effort to out cool each other, as they have got the uniforms and the haircuts and the tattoos and maybe even the piercings and they all lounge around with their friends, drinking their drinks, and hoping to be seen by somebody. And even though I feel like a ghost here someone is talking to me now, and I should answer them. Excuse me.
And the time comes when someone decides it’s time for us to go. So Jo kisses Sean goodbye, because that’s her name and I can’t believe I forgot it, but then I seem to do that a lot, and he and the two girls get into a cab and drive off and we start walking, past the delis and the Laundromats and the other bars and the park and the video store with all the movies we won’t see in it and past the pizza place I went to last week. And we come up to that bar, the one where you and I went that time when you didn’t have any ID on you so we had to go back to your place and get some, and this time two of the three girls with my friend and I don’t have ID either, and I almost laugh out loud when I hear this but I managed to keep it in. One of the girls that doesn’t have any ID says to the doorman that she knows the owner, and his name is Fred and he said to come down anytime, and the guy behind the doorman hears this and says sure come on in, and we don’t even need to pay. So we buy more vodka and drink to our good fortune. We have a spot at the end of the bar, and this seems like a good spot to be because the DJ is right next to us, and I start dancing with the friend of the friend of my friend, and I should have mentioned before that her name is Dawn because that’ll make things so much easier to describe. Dawn and I are dancing, and I can tell that I’m drunk now because it was my idea, and no one else is dancing because there are signs all around the bar to say that you are not allowed to dance here. This seems stupid when there is a DJ playing, and just as I’m thinking that (right now) I jump and make the record jump, and everybody looks at me and I probably blush, but it’s dark enough that no one can see that. After this lots of other people come and dance in front of the DJ, so Dawn and I take the three or so steps and rejoin the group, right in time for my friend to give us some more vodka.
They were telling me that we’re going, because they were giving me a warning to layer up, but all I can do is put on my jacket, so I do that and wait. We get back outside and it’s cold and biting, which I’d forgotten about because the seat we sat on was heated – it was so hot that it started to melt my friend’s fleece as he sat there. It doesn’t get this cold where I live, he says, as if reading my mind. We’re only going a block I think, and as we wait at the corner for the lights to change I look at the gutter and see that the water is frozen there, and when we cross I make a point of standing on it to see if it will crack. It doesn’t. We go into a new bar and have some more beers, local beers from a local brewery, and the beer is strong and good this time, and it doesn’t take us long to start to feel better than we have all night. A few more and we are all talking as if we are old friends, and we’re asking each other questions about ourselves and finding out all of the things there are to know. If you listen carefully you should be able to listen in, if the music’s not too loud for you.
So she’s talking to me, Dawn that is (or maybe it’s Jo – it’s hard to tell; it’s really dark and we’re all drunk), and she’s asking me where I go to when I go out, and I don’t really know what to tell her because I don’t really go out that much at the moment. I tell her that I’ve been here before, but that I went downstairs that time, and I tell her it’s difficult to find people to go out with. She tells me that she had the same problem, but you just have to try to stay in contact with people, because no one ever calls you if you don’t make the effort first. She’s right, I think to myself, and I have to learn to do this. My friend had said the same thing earlier in the night, in the cab on the way to the first bar. I look around to see where he is, because he had been dancing with the third girl, probably against her will, up on the dance floor just a few minutes ago. The music is throbbing – some bass heavy thing with a great piano riff over the top of it – but he’s not there. And then he taps me on the shoulder and gives me another vodka and I laugh at myself. We drain these and my friend says toodle-oo, because that’s something he says, unfortunately, and then I’m in a cab with the girls going somewhere else. At least I assume he said toodle-oo as he’s not here now, but I can’t quite remember him leaving, and I figure he must have said goodbye before he left because he always does.
I’m talking to one of the brothers, Brian I think it is, and he’s talking about what it was like to live here when he was here a few years ago. He’s the flatmate of my friend now, I’ve just found out, and that’s how everyone knows each other. Apart from me, of course. And he says that it’s hard at first – this is a hard city – but once you get a few friends it all flows from there, and before you know it you’re a local and feel like you know everybody in the whole city. A girlfriend helps of course, he says, because she can introduce you to a group of her friends, and then you know another group. I think of you when he says this, of course, and I wonder what would have happened if you were still here. Things would be different, that’s for sure. But he’s still talking, so I start listening again, until he goes to the toilet and we play tag team conversation with the remaining people there. My friend comes over now, and I can tell that he’s very drunk because he’s never been able to drink much, and he asks me if I’m happy. I’m trying to be, I tell him, and that seems to be enough for him right now.
We’re in the cab and driving across town, and everyone is talking all at once, and I’m smiling fit to burst. We stop at some lights, and the other girl jumps out after kissing everyone goodbye, and then it’s just Dawn and Jo and me, and we go back to Jo’s place because that’s what she says we’re doing, and I’m not going to argue with her. We go there and have another drink, because we can rather than because we need it, and she gets changed or something and then we’re outside again and walking down the road to some club which has changed hands and we just have to go there and check it out, and I say okay then. We get there quickly because who can remember how long time takes when you’re drunk, and we’re up the stairs and taking off our coats and getting some more money and buying drinks and standing by the dance floor before we even realise it. And when we do realise it we also realise that they are the only girls in the place, and there are a lot of guys here without shirts on, and all three of us laugh like drains. I didn’t know I can hear Jo saying, but none of us care too much. We drain the drinks, the ones that might be the last or might be the ones that lead us to even more, and we push through the crowd because we want to see and be seen, and the crowd lets us through because they don’t quite know what to make of us and they want to find out more.
The bar closes, of course, because that’s what bars do, so we re-layer and go out and up the road, walking a few blocks closer to their apartment. One of the brothers, Brian probably, asks if anyone’s hungry, and of course we all realise that we are. So he steers us across the road and into a pizza place, and as soon as that smell hits us we’re all gone, and none of us can wait for the pizza to be ready, even though we have to. And when it comes there’s no talk at all, which isn’t too surprising, and no thought either, at least until it’s gone. It’s only as I’m walking out that I realise that I’m only a few blocks from your old place, and a drunken thought in my head says to go over there, but there’s no point because you’re not there and these people are here and I’m walking with them until it’s time for me to head down the road to the train station and to go home. And, later, I’m on the train and I’m on the way home, and I get my book out to start reading, but of course I can’t read because I’m too drunk, and because it’s 3.00 in the morning and it’s no time for reading. So I’m sitting there, watching the stations come and go, and there’s a homeless guy sitting opposite me trying to play an electric guitar without any electricity. He is engrossed in what he’s doing, and I guess I am too. He can’t play – that much is obvious without the noise – but it doesn’t stop him from hitting the strings for all he’s worth. There’s no one else on his side of the carriage – everyone other than me has gone to the other end of the carriage – but he hasn’t noticed a thing. He’s got a cap at his feet, but there’s nothing in it. I throw whatever coins I have into it, but he doesn’t see it. I touch his hand for some reason, I don’t really know why, and he stops instantly and looks at me, and I feel as though an electric charge has passed through us, and I ask him to play something quiet. He looks me in the eye, and he starts to sing, something about solid air, and he strums as he sings. And he does this until my station arrives, and he says goodnight as I get out, and I say goodnight back to him as they close the doors. I turn and walk upstairs and go home, a full moon lighting my way.
We have to leave some time, of course, so we leave now. Don’t ask me what time it is. We’re all in the back of the cab we eventually stopped, and they’re throwing money at me because I have to go the furthest distance so I’ll be in here last. And they go, Dawn and Jo, and I kiss them goodbye as they do. After that we’re on the way home, the cab driver and me, and I’m watching the city slide past because I love to do this; I love to see the world flow around and above and below me when I’m not touching it. You can see all kinds of things as you drive past – if you look out the window you might see a couple fighting, some drunk guys pissing against a building, someone trying in vain to hail my cab. I see all of these things as I drive by. And before I realise it I’m almost home, and I get the driver to stop at the train station because I feel like walking the rest of the way home. I pay him and start walking, the sun just starting to make its presence known, and there is a guy asleep on a park bench just by the station entrance. I leave him where he is, and walk the two blocks home, thinking about the night I had, and hugging myself to warm up.
(January 2001)