the end of the world


Warm nights make people a little strange. Saturday night was one of them. I was in the city heading into a small electro dance party called Kavorka Kaos, one of those parties that was started off by a small group of friends which then became popular enough that they decided to make it a regular thing.

Anyway, that night it seemed that the city was split into two groups, people driving in their cars and people being beeped at by people driving in their cars. I couldn’t really understand how that worked and why that would be considered attractive, but I guess it’s not really about that, it’s about expression and that brief bit of recognition and attention no matter that it was negative.

Or maybe it was about trying to give a little bit back, about being complimentary in a way that only the verbally incompetent, the emotionally immature, the intellectually deficient can be.

Tonight is another warm night. The morning sun was a pale red globe and I rode in to work in an early morning twilight. From my office, it was clear that the whole day passed in this twilight, the city remaining shrouded in the bush fire smog. I stayed on late even though I didn’t really need to. I stayed on late because I didn’t have anything planned tonight and I didn’t want to go to pub or go home too early.

Eventually, I did have to go home and found myself heating up some leftovers in the microwave, drinking a couple of beers and watching a terrible romantic comedy about a self-help relationship coach (female) from New York trapped in Alaska surrounded by Iron John types. It was like watching Sex in the City mixed with Northern Exposure. Perhaps that was how it was pitched.

So here I am instead writing this long entry about nothing very much except that it sucks being single when the night is as warm as this and when the city is full of people on the sidewalks, in the cafes, in the parks or at the beaches.

I could go to the pub of course, or head down to the Edinborough gardens for the fire circle that happens there every Wednesday or take the tram down to Brunswick Street and have a gelati or even run through my list of friends to see who is free for a chat or a drink.

But that’s not what I want.

I want to be sitting outside in the back garden holding my lover, wondering idly if the end of the world was nigh but not caring too much because even if it was, we would be together when it happened.

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