I miss those Friday afternoons where I’d go to the Bottle-O and choose a red wine, cider, Coopers or Corona depending on the season or my mood. I miss the door fridges that have all the six packs, and some bastards have taken one beer out of three different six packs so you have to rebuild a new one and it’s kind of annoying, but not really because I’m about to down six beers on a Friday afternoon and so it’s hard to be annoyed by anything.
I miss getting tipsy then catching a tram to meet some friends after some last minute influencing proposing to go for dinner in Brunswick or North Fitzroy or Fitzroy, depending on the season or my mood. I miss taking that walk from Lygon Street to Smith Street because the arsehole city planner doesn’t want Melbournians to travel west-east and some other arsehole, myself, refuses to acknowledge that there is in fact a bus but I’d rather walk with my iPod anyway because I’ve just uploaded the new Best Coast album. I miss boozy dinners where I remember sitting down, but getting up is a little hazy. I miss getting so full, then walking out of the restaurant and realizing I could totally do a slice of pizza or falafel right now, and looking forward to getting one later and striking up a drunken conversation with the dudes that work there. I miss the smell of the sticky carpet at The Tote, and then walking over to the bar to put my Coopers down thinking it’s empty but it’s not, and now the carpet is a little stickier. I miss going to the beer garden to have a cigarette even though I don’t smoke and then not smoking a couple more. I miss getting so excited to hear a band play, and then sometimes three songs in wishing it were over already so we could go somewhere to have a dance . I miss random conversations along Brunwick St or Lygon St or Sydney Rd which seem meaningful at the time but actually it’s probably just about the falafel that’s in my hand….or was. I miss the walk home, and wondering if any of my housemates are still up because I still have a word or two to say about my falafel. I miss waking up in my bed and feeling something wet and sticky and being both relieved and disappointed to find that it’s just tahini sauce.
I miss getting up, attempting breakfast, shit just not happening and my housemates and I deciding to go to a café instead and spending 15 minutes figuring out which one and deciding just to start walking and we’ll see where we end up but then never making it past A Minor Place because it’s at the end of the street and shit is difficult when you’re thirsty, tired and hungover. I miss watching the waiters and getting so fucking excited every time they come close to our table because I think they are carrying my plate, and then realising I hadn’t actually ordered yet. I miss fighting over the magazines and newspapers and then only reading the cover of each one and then getting more excited by my housemate reading me my horoscope which says something about work or some shit. I miss poking my poached eggs and watching the yellow poke out. I miss grabbing a second coffee, a take away and swearing in my head cos my KeepCup is only down the street but secretly content because I like the way the coffee tastes in the plastic which will soon end up in landfill. I miss going to pay the bill and realising my wallet is empty and having to pay for four meals and eight coffees on my EFTPOS card which in Melbourne roughly adds up to the cost of buying my own hipster café.
I miss walking home from the café, only to be lured by disheveled garage sale signs, and then buying a piece of shit or two for the house which we will give away at our next garage sale where we are selling bookends and paperweights and containers for floppy disks that we have bought at previous garage sales. I miss sitting outside on the porch with the housemates admiring the newly-bought shit and wondering what we’d do tonight after naptime.