The Sydney Express

The train pulls into Sydney Grand Central Station and the clocks begin ticking for my four hour layover in Sydney. First things first, it's farewells (again) to Christian, Wally, Simon and Odile. So, I'M IN SYDNEY, SHIT. of course it's only for four hours, the way everyone says, "Oh, I've been to Singapore... airport", so i dont know sydney the least bit , but I'M IN SYDNEY SHIT. thats years and years of listening to stupid people talking about Sydney and now finally i've joined the club.



a tour down oxford street, self-guided, no less, is in order. but first the slight logistical problem of footwear needs to be sorted out. as luck would have it, my thongs were thrown out of the train back in adelaide, the thongs that half-belonged to harith and another half to wei xian. but no matter, as im losting in sydney, i find myself standing right in front of a scientology booth with free e-meter readings for passers-by. point is, this booth was in front of a discount store, the type with the loopy loudspeaker offering branded perfumes at warehouse prices, except this time it's a nice lady's voice in aussie englYsh instead of a sweaty uncle breathing down a broken microphone. so, discount store, 3AUD aussie flag thongs that seem all the rage among other Budget Travellers. johannes, for example, would be so proud of me. thongs on, oxford st here i come (but maybe i should've went for the e-meter reading too).

on the corner of oxford st is a gorgeous guy (is it me or is it the other me?) selling AidsTrust wristbands for 2AUD. so for the chance of getting to know him (in both ways) and to support a just cause, i go up to him. ah, but he's german, and im sick and tired of german for a little while so i cough up and exeunt.

back to waiting for the bus, im bored and the book is not so interesting for now so i call up Dharma, who's in Singapore right now. but she's all busy stupid about it so i tell her that she can go spend all her life with her Brahmin friends and family. of course i dont. ok, maybe just a little. I call Hon Lyn and she's not coming down anymore. I call Fariz and he's studying in Monash(!) from Capitol Centre (er...). Nevermind. Bus comes and i'm on my way, but not before a right hippie tries to get on with his worldly possessions but is rejected for some reason the thick glass windows conceal. he throws a little fit and loses all his hippie-cred as the bus pulls away. play on, blue sky.

on the cursed bus to Stratford, VIC now. Mt. Bulli is ridiculously foggy for no particular reason. maybe it's cold outside. the guy sitting beside me is called mark and we share food and listen to janis joplin as we make our way through bateman's bay. at 2am we stop at a Mac's where there's a sweetheart called daniel eating on the roadside so i join him with my two day-old bread from adelaide. by this time, im pretty certain it's the other me. shit.