___ ___ ___ ____ __ _____ __ ____ __ / __\ /__ \ /__ \ / __// | / /__ \ / / / / |/ | / /_/ // \ \// \ \/ /_ / /||/ // \ \/ / / / /| /| | / __ // / // / / __// / | // / / / / / / |/ | | / / / //___/ //___/ / /__/ / / //___/ / /__/ / / | | /_/ /_/______/______/____/_/ /_/______/\_____/_/ TEXTFILES ---------------------------------------------------------------------- 3.4 / #90 / Thursday the 29th of May 2003 / http://www.adden.tr.cx ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Pavement, by Steak ¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯ It was a warm summers day when me and Phoenix, having walked around the city, at first trying to visit an art gallery but finding it closed so settling for the library instead, but finding that to be a little boring (mainly because the main reading room was, you guessed it; closed) had moved onto and loitered in a book shop for an hour and half before buying a small poetry book and a stop off at a coffee shop for a flat white for me a dark something-or-other for Phoenix, that we found ourselves sitting on a random spot off to the side of the pavement on a busy Melbourne walkway. ‘It really gives you a good knee high view of people sitting down here’ I wrote in my little book Phoenix commented on how similar everybody looked from this height and that got my mind working. Down here sitting on the sidewalk there was no bullshit, there was no racism, there was no hatred, there was no multiculturalism this was the undiscovered utopia. There was a rather professional sounding busker sitting right in front of us, he was playing an cacophony of electric guitar notes in our general direction and I have to admit that it sounded kinda good. I had no idea what songs he was singing, or trying to sing, but it was just executed quite professionally, what with him playing the harmonica at the same time and everything. ‘About a thousand people just waked past us while I was writing all that.’ I wrote in my book. ‘I didn’t talk to any of them, didn’t say a single word our lives were close for a fraction of a second and then we parted without so much as a whisper of communication’ Pause, clap for the busker, carry on writing. He’s trying to sell his CD to us, he want’s twenty bucks for it, would I buy it? Is it worth twenty bucks? As I said, the music sounds good, but is it good enough to be worth paying for. In the end it’s all irrelevant anyway, I have no money so he’s not going to see a cent from me, no matter how hard he tries. Some crazy smiling woman just tried to give Phoenix some money, but upon realising that he had food, she took it back. She wormed her way to the real busker and started dancing to the beat of the man’s foot- drum. The busker comes to the end of the song and when she hears the dwindling applause that the modest crowd shows the busker the old crazy lady pipes up a little. 'Where’s the applause?!' she yells at the top of her lungs to no one in particular 'Where’s the fucking applause?!' she screams even louder. The cops pull up to the traffic lights next to us that have just turned red and she quietens down a little bit. I chuckle lightly to myself. ‘silly old crazy woman’ I think ‘cops have nice cars, I wonder how fast I could get up to in one’ I continue. The silly old crazy woman has just started touching the busker on the shoulder, commenting on what a ‘wonderful musician’ he is and ‘how honoured she is to be in the presence of such a talented person’ it’s plainly obvious to me, Phonex, the crowd and the busker that she’s trying to come on to him. He moves on to a sadder number, the woman looks like she’s going to break down and cry, I catch a lyric: ‘You have to keep your head, while madness is there instead’. The song picks up pace and the lady seems to instantly feel better about herself, she actually starts to dance. That’s it; she’s completely lost it now. The song’s finished now and she’s telling him how much she loved it and how much it reminds her of past romances she has experienced. She starts to cry and whimper how much she would love to here a old song of her youth, a song that has some kind of special meaning to her. He tries and fails, smiling she tells him ‘it ok and he can play what ever he wants” she tries to kiss him but he pulls away, leaving her looking on with a look of slight rejection in her facial features. Seeming a little unsure he kicks into a more upbeat number and the lady continues with her dancing. A fire truck laden with fire-fighters pulls up to the red lights and the old lady tries to get the men to dance with her. Naturally, they don’t. The old lady walks off without paying a cent. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- What you just read was copyright the respective author who should appear at the top of the page. Addendum just passes the file on to you: the reader. Should you wish to copy this file and give it to anyone else your more than welcome but please leave the file exactly how it is now. Thankyou. ----------------------------------------------------------------------