Left the tidy(ish) flat to walk in the sun. Was a great Wellington day. You cannot beat Wellington on a good day. Promise. Try it for yourself sometime.
Walk as far as the local coffee shop owned by the old BailterSpace guy. Talk some shit. Buy my old junky mate a coffee. The girl who works there with the brightest blue hair you have ever seen comes out and see’s the book on the table. “Ooooo“, she swoons, “MaryJane’s book“…
“You know her then?” says me, hardly surprised. We are about three hundred metres from the psych ward, the addiction disservice building and a church where MaryJane went to all her N.A meetings.
“Yes, I know her… I want to read that book… Oooooooooooo”
“Say hello from me then” I say rather gruffly and dismissively. I can only imagine the tall stories that this young girl has heard from MaryJane. I think it’s better off being avoided.
Continue talking shit with old junky mate. We talk about whom the characters are in the book. We have a laugh. We did not know we both knew the lawyer guy. We decide that MaryJane was only telling very small parts of the story in a number of points in the book. That is fine. She did not claim to write a “warts and all” account of the life.
I did not tell the old junky mate about some of the other old mates I recognise in the book. The camouflage pant wearing guy for instance. Anyway. It is beautiful and sunny and some of the passers by are wearing some very summery outfits. Nice.
Take my leave and head up to ex’s house. She doesn’t give me an earache with yelling. She does talk with me about the book and other stuff. Like how stupid N.A is. She doesn’t really care mind you. But she does work in the field now and then. Besides, her internet was not going. It would have been rude to yell at me for getting her internet going for her.
Head off to the Newtown market. Buy free range eggs, carrots, celery, onions… Can’t wait to get home and thrash the juicer. See a few old friends and the like. One girl looks almost too damn skinny riding her bike with her skirt hitched up. She smiles and says hello half an hour later as we walk into each other on our way out. The guy selling fish is still a knob. The Asians selling fruit and vege still count every last cent. The Maori boy singing still is a cheeky sod. Newtown market is great. About the only thing that didn’t happen that usually happens is I did not see the legal secretary who was once my sisters best mate and horse riding buddy. She is the only Samoan in the world with blue eyes. It is quite scary.
Since going halves with the spiritual advisor in the eggs, I go up her place to drop off half the tray. Her son is there with some mates smoking the cannabis. Smells nice too. I help myself to a sandwich and leave without saying hello.
At the shop down the road I see an old junky girl with the very first junky guy I ever met in my life. I stop, they stop. I talk, they talk. Everyone talks. All the Indian shopkeepers keep their eyes on us. We cannot move without a set of eyes twitching nervously from behind the counters even though we are standing on the street in the sun.
My back is sore. I sit on a street bin.
I see the old dealer guy who should be in jail. Me and my dealer mates went to jail for less than he got caught with. This is suspicious. What is even worse is that whenever I make eye contact he looks away. And he is a big guy. What is he hiding? Who cares huh? As he walks past I do not bother turning or allowing the other people I am with to know we know each other. He walks back past ten minutes later and the girl says “I know that guy.” I shrug.
We walk to the “shitmarket” (supermarket) and she decides to ditch the guy and her plans to go visit her old drug using mate for her birthday. We walk very slowly, talking complete shit, towards my place as she lives a few km further up the hills. We get to the flash new supermarket on the corner.
Decide to buy milk.
We spend almost two hours in supermarket. Was great fun actually.
“Hey, NZFiend, that reminds me of wanking” she says shaking a bottle of sauce to stir it up.
“Really, what’s wanking? I don’t think I have ever done that” says me cheekily — I have noticed the girls with green dread locks and a mohawk are grinning at us.
“Oh sure you haven’t”
“No, seriously. I had my outie removed and a vagina put in instead. I get to play on the ladies team. It’s awesome. Here, I’ll show you… Hand me my carrots….”
The girls with the green hair are cracking up. The middle aged lady with the kids whom I didn’t notice walk up behind us looks like she has watched five episodes of Two and a Half Men in a row. Her husband just stands there like some sort of art installation. Going red. No, maybe beetroot. Purple even.
“I am soooooo sorry” I apologise to everyone matter of factly. I turn back to the old junky girl mate and say a little too loudly “that nurse really should not leave us alone whilst we are on day release from the ward you know…”
About fifteen minutes later we get sick of trying to be more gross than each other loudly and then calling out things like “HELP POLICE, ESCAPED MENTAL PATIENT” and running away from each other rapidly. I go pay for my milk and tuna and sit down. My back is sore again.
Junky chicks are notoriously bad at doing anything. Shopping can take weeks. Choosing a pair of socks has been known to result in death by old age. Luckily she just needed rice and coffee. I was only waiting half an hour.
It was a really good wait. Sitting on a seat watching all the people come and go. Was brilliant fun. You get a different sort of people at the Mount Cook end of Newtown. The old junky chick comes and sits down finally.
We sit for another half hour just watching people.
A short fat chick walks out of the place carrying some bags. Unremarkable. But what was remarkable was that she had a full face motorbike helmet on.
Junky chick says “what the fuck?”
“Damn right, what the fuck…”
“Maybe she didn’t want people knowing she was buying rubbish bags…” says junky chick.
“It’s not the rubbish bags I am concerned about. It’s the rather large set of steak knives in her other arm and what she intends doing with the bags and the knives……….”…..
Without thinking too much I slap junky chicks leg hard too get her moving out the door. People in the vicinity look shocked. Apart from one couple who looked curiously turned on. Hhaahhaha. Brilliant.
Junky chick goes “ooww” and slaps my ass. I turn to the interested couple and ask if I can borrow their cattle prod. They blush.
We walk to my place slowly. We spend some time talking shit about how I cannot see my kid any more (junky chick knows the mother of my daughter and thinks she is f ck d in the head, you know what I mean)…. I give her a lift up the last 2km of hill to her place.
I come back home and see a few old junky mates leaving one of the dealers in the building. The stop and ask me if I have any _________________. I say “no”.
They politely ask how I am.
I say fine.
They leave quickly.
Drugs. Maybe people need them to put up with me. I am doomed to spend my days with druggies.