hunting in the (sub)urban jungle

there is one in a tight white singlet and a short black silky sashaying skirt, trailed by her olds dressed much more respectfully, the father (sporting a careful moustache) in a checkered collared polo ralph lauren shirt and the mother clutching her louis vuitton handbag, no doubt with her chequebook tucked inside, ready to bleed for their ungrateful offspring.

another, his hunched shoulders and curly dark hair screaming WOG, flits from room to room, trying to escape his overweight, overbearing but nonetheless well-meaning mother. look it's a spot for your washing machine! the bathroom doubles as a laundry! he tries to escape but im blocking the door. excuse me. c'mon ma someone else wants to see the bathroom. i wait to see her spit into her hand and pat his unruly hair into place, but they turn the corner and leaves me alone to imagine the ensuing squirming and verbal barrage.

a couple with all the right questions, dressed in the uniform of young upstarts: he confidently decked out in a printed t-shirt, faded jeans and sneakers; she mildly overweight, slightly overdone with her make-up and wearing black pointy shoes. (shudder). the agent with the cheap suit and tie is cornered and forced to listen to their entire investment philosophy. he stutters explanations for why the floating floorboards seem to be lifting off the floor (something to do with a fishbowl accident) and why he does not have copies of the contract to sign right this second. they promise to ring him on monday and he looks like he's about to faint.

i make it to the final inspection with three minutes to spare. she is about to lock up. i try to get an impression of the place in thirty seconds but her pink push-up bra distracts me. i vaguely remember some music posters on the walls and a miniscule balcony that looks straight into the fence. as we walk out another belated hunter is coming up the path. she tries to keep her cool and fails. i avert my eyes (from her chest) and decide to call it a day.

i haven't had this much fun in ages.

brain drain

i haven't listened to music for ages. i used to, every day, on the way to and from work. my little ipod shuffle blasting at my half-deaf ears. these days i shuffle along (and sometimes, catch the tram, filled with guilt) still trying to wake up or slowly sinking back into a daze. i tell myself it's so i can pay more attention to my surroundings, see and hear what is going on in the world around me. but that's a lie - i am oblivious to it all. work. sleep. work sleep...

nor do i read or write any more. it's such a battle trying to describe a feeling, or recall a moment. its as if im banging my head repeatedly against a wall. my brain is lead; thoughts stifled just as they are born; instead of ideas and emotions bursting to express themselves, there is only emptiness behind my eyes. oh how far have i fallen since... i don't remember...