random reflective transcriptions from nowhere…

I wandered back,
hell at my heels,
he asked what was up,
i refused to answer.

nothing wants to happen,
but do i want it all?

revolving doors amuse me..

“You want sugar in that, darling?” asked the man with the Turkish accent.
“Yea, two, thanks.”
“No problem sweetheart.”
sat down, legs aching, head thumping, lack of sleep and caffine.
coffee, spinach and cheese filo, two Neurofen.
he sits down next to me.
“So, are you just finishing work, or just starting?” i guess i looked better than i felt..
“Ah, neither, just passing through. On my way from Brisbane to Griffith.”
“Yea, we get a lot of travellers here.” whaddaya know, its an airport, and you get travellers? i’m shocked, really.

grey bomber jacket, adidas shirt, adidas track pants, adidas cap, pig nose, prominent teeth. “cough Da-aAm.” long blonde hair, cream trench coat, cream skirt, hot-pink skivvy, hot pink strappy sandles, smiles at me, knowing that pig-nose adidas boy is just a jerk. j drops in my mind from god-knows-where. dissasociated from voices in the room, not caring what they say. red bomber jacket walks out, 50ish couple walk in.

man with a bald head and full beard, holding a phone, refusing to answer it while it rings.. coca cola logo plastered on every glass panel of the little cafe opposite the cafe in which i am inconspicuously perched in a booth. as far as i can tell, that’s the name of the place, no other name in sight. young asian guy, beanie, backpack, USA sweater. jeans, bomber jacket, rivers boots sits down in the booth opposite, eats lasagne, probably half cold. two suits wander past, one smoking, the other on the phone. sit on the edge of the circular garden bed. um. that guy is short. a little too tall to be a midget, but still short.. God she looks cold. 40ish, red hair, pulled back in a tight bun, black trench coat, skivvy, black pants, black boots, and a walk that’s more of a shuffle. 30ish, black pant suit, huge bunch of red roses. the suit on the phone gets up, wanders around his mate, makes a wanking motion, the mate laughs. early 20’s, tight dark jeans, yellow shirt, black sunglasses, and cool. “Scuse me, could I have a borrow of your lighter please?” black slightly curly hair, black t-shirt, black jeans, sneakers, a little overweight, but not drastically so. “Yea, no problem” replies lasagne guy. he lights up, “Thanks for that” and hands the bright blue mini-flame-thrower back. he darts outside, finishes his cigarette (a Marlboro), and dissapears back through the revolving door on the other side of the road.. red roses walks past again. lasagne guy gets up, smiles at me, and wanders away.

finally got 30 min by myself to contemplate the cast of characters out here, and my guess at what they think of me.. mum and dad are barely giving me 5 min to myself. i feel like a walking target with 2 24 hour bodyguards. time, is ticking away now.

name of a pub in Newcastle: The Duck’s Nuts Hotel. oh my.