During a rather tortuous period of my life, I was disturbed by my discovery that I had lost my keys, and a thorough search of my persons revealed that I had also misplaced my mind; I resolved to do the logical thing and write a book. I found my keys soon after. They were in my bag, but they pretty much always are, aren’t they? Then the microwave started beeping.
I hate microwaves. I hate that they’re so loud and obnoxious, and the high-pitched beeping they use to grab your attention angers me. Oh, and I’m not even gonna start on the difficulties of setting the time on them…
So I ripped open the microwave, and then calmly grabbed the hot cup of coffee. I placed it on the bench and added milk and sugar, two teaspoons. I grabbed a Dunhill, briefly felt like Hunter S. Thompson, then went outside and lit my cigarette. There was a cold breeze blowing through, which added a pleasant edge to the hideous heat that blasted down upon Western Sydney. I lent on the balcony railing and the picturesque scene ahead got me smiling, as always.
I decided that one day I would take a picture of it. My knowledge that it would perfectly capture the vulgarity and depravity typical of the area pleased me to no end. I thought about photography and other frivolous things until I finished my coffee and cigarette. I then returned to my humble abode; a bed-sit apartment in Mount Druitt - however, it’s not in Mount Druitt. I just tell people it is. Signs and maps and street directories will tell you this area is Whalan, but they may as well be lying and Whalan may as well be called Hebersham or Tregear or Plumpton because they‘re all just suburbs pretending they‘re not Mount Druitt.
And I thought to myself; “you should probably remember that for your novel, that is a stellar sentence…” I grabbed my bag, pulled it over my shoulders, and swung open the door and:
“Holy Calamity,“Yo,” I said, answering my mobile.
Scream insanity
All you ever gonna be’s
Another great fan of me.”
(I’m not terribly sure when I began using this hideous slang, but it seems to have spread like a virus. In my circle of friends it began with Stu. He then infected Jaz, who in turn infected me. Although we all sound a little silly saying this, it is I who look the most foolish; as a skinny white guy who wears scuffed sneakers and tight pants, there‘s something inherently comical about my use of colloquialisms such as, “yo.”)
“Oh. Hey man. It’s Jaz.”
“Yeah? Sup?”
I had a feeling he was going to ask me to engage in some, shall we say, questionable extra-curricular activities.
“Not a lot. How‘s tricks?”
“Yeah, you know, not bad. ”
“Yeah, so I was wondering if you’d be interested in a chill today, your place? I have to get on and everything, though. Getting together a fifty.”
“Huh?” I said, “how’d you get the money for that?”
“Ah, I just hocked some shit,” Jaz replied. I laughed.
“Yeah well, I just gotta go round my Mum’s for a bit - “
“Remember you owe me a sesh, right?” interrupted Jaz.
“Yeah.”
“Awesome, see you in an hour. I’m waiting for the bus now.”
Beep, beep, beep.Goddamnit, I thought. An hour? I legged it down the stairs, jumped the apartment complex fence and jogged down through the tunnel towards my Mum’s place.
I arrived at my Mum’s panting and tired. I flung open the screen door, and jumped triumphantly into the room violently screaming, “Put ya hands in the air, motherfuckers.”
My mother shrieked in fright.
“What the fuck, Texas?! Don’t do that; you scared the shit out of me. That’s it; Rob! (“yeah?”) from now on the screen door stays locked at all times, even if Beau isn’t here.( “Did Tex‘s entrance startle you again?) Of course it did, the little lunatic.”
I regained my composure after several bouts of hysterical laughter, repetitively gibbering, “Haha, you should’ve seen your face.”
“Anyways, anyways,” I said, “can you take me to do that shopping?”
“Yeah,” Mum sighed, “but I want a coffee and a cigarette first.”
“Ahh, that’s an issue - Jaz is coming round, and in his typical fashion, he has given me a sudden and unexpected timeframe with which to work.”
“When’s he get here?”
“Aye? Well… an hour was before so, ionno,” I said, checking the time on my phone. “Oh wait. He’d arrive in say, forty-five?”
And then Mum said; “Yeah, that sounds doable,” before slipping on some shoes and lighting a cigarette as we went outside towards the car.
She turned towards me and said, “Remember, you’ve got an appointment with Christoph-Mike-Sleu” (she says his name like an infant impersonating a retarded person) “and Jackie tomorrow.”
“It’s gonna be a fuck around and they’re gonna treat me like an idiot again. There’s a fine line between madness and stupidity, and these people clearly don’t recognise it.”
“Yes,” said Mum, “I know, I know. Walls always tumble when madmen wield swords. But you need a diagnosis.”
“Yeah I’m positive I’ll feel less crazy once I have a piece of paper that officially declares my insanity.”
“Get in the car and stop wasting time.”
I got in the car. Whoosh.
The shopping was shopped and purchased without disaster rearing its ugly head.
Back at my bed-sit I packed up my wonderful goodies, my delicious snacks and refreshing beverages, and headed down the road to the Bus Stop near Victor’s. Victor is a young, non-descript asian male. It didn’t take me long to conclude that he must prefer to avoid arousing attention; his clothes are similarly non-descript and he wears nothing of flamboyance or style. His clothes are simple and plain, rarely shifting from a t-shirt with track pants - this is more or less the uniform of Mount Druitt. He too resides in the charming town of Whalan and comes from a working class family. However, unlike myself, Victor has discovered a clever way to make a quick profit- the age-old hobby of buying and selling illegal substances for personal profit. He is, in laymen terms, a Drug Dealer.
Five minutes passed before I saw Jaz’s bus turn the corner. The bus was in fact due to arrive ten minutes prior to it’s actual arrival, although this did not surprise me; if there is one thing you can count on in Western Sydney, it is the unreliability of our public transport system. Of course, that is not to say that the transport system is entirely at fault; the blame also falls upon the Neanderthal lads who reside out near Shalvey. (As I previously mentioned, many suburbs pretend not to be Mounty County; Shalvey is one such suburb.) Stu once enlightened us with a story of some Shalvey boys rocking buses:
“And I was like, what? You rocked the buses? You live in Shalvey! How’re you gonna get anywhere? What do they say? Ahh nah cuz, we jus’ rock da kents for the rep, the cred. But without buses you’re stuck there - you cant even get to Mounty. Aye? Yer bu’ ya gotta. And cuz - we ran out dere, the side of the street, right? We ran dere’ an’ picked up da rock’s and frew em, shoutin, “awwh yeah, cuz. Shalvey reprasant!” But den some fookin’ gronk, a total gronk I tells ya, dey start makin’ our business their business, y’know? Dey dun told us not ta frow rocks! So we told em what fer, told da deekhead ta mind ‘is own fookin’ bishness!…Fair enough, fair enough. But something still doesn’t make sense; why do want reputation more than you want transport? Aye? Ya get da rep and people come namadder what. Ya rock some buses, an’ den no kent wanna fuck widge ya; ya one of da Shalvey boys - an’ ya don’t fuck with ‘em ‘cos they’ll fuck ya up, just like they did the buses.” Yep. And that, my friend, is the problem with this place.
Mounty County; we’re not just stupid, but violent as well. You see, the problem is that stupid people are my mortal enemies. And there’s just so many of them around here - Mount Druitt is a festering cesspool of idiocy.
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