I've been a complete tourist in my home town of late; wandering absently through concrete and smoke and seeking street numbers that ripple like heatwaves, disconnect then reallign themselves into foreign glyphs. Craning my neck around skyscrapers, weaving through the laneways, the amblers, the civil binary code. I kick a plastic tumbleweed, a rat, a coin, and the traffic murmurs like an aching heartbeat. Smells like shit. Then the skyscrapers pierce the clouds and it feels like all God has tumbled to the asphalt. The beat picks up and the things move again; litter tumbles and the footpaths shuffle to an unholy metropolitan walking bass.
I sit down and have a smoke and wish that somebody would come and talk to me about things.