Kthaahthikha

One man, a word-processor, and too much free time.

15 July, 2005

Locus

He couldn’t think, so he rode the trams. They carried him inwards and outwards like the tides, a daily ticket for three zones that consumed twelve hours a day.

He didn’t have a house. He slept on the trams. When he was hungry, he would buy something, and make-up a story so that restaurateurs let him use their microwaves. Sometimes he ate take-away, but sometimes it didn’t agree with him.

He wasn’t penniless. He collected the dole, by way of letters sent to his friend Anthea’s house every fortnight. Whenever they demanded that he work, Anthea would give him a job selling books in her shop, and he would sleep in her garage until enough time had elapsed.
Not owing any rent, only six dollars a day (he had a concession card), he found his three hundred dollars a fortnight more than enough. He was only one man, free of electricity bills. For entertainment, he would stop at the nearest library, or else ride out to the university to watch videos for free under the guise of being a mature-aged student.

At night, he walked. He stood in the doorways of restaurants and watched couples wed, sat on the bridge and gazed down into the river, stood by the entrance to the cricket grounds and listened to the crowds. He was not unkempt, for he washed every morning and night in the public toilets, spending a small amount of his money on soap. He used this to wash the knife and fork that were his only practical possession, fitting into the pocket of his mackintosh along with a well-worn volume, the cover gone and the spine thrice re-stitched.

Once, he had taken the train further afield. He walked the streets of this sister-city, seeing his home across the bay. It was winter, and very cold, but the jacket kept him warm. He sojourned two days but left relieved, there being no trams to ride, and his sleep strange and disturbed in the lee of the old town hall.

Am I wrong for loving Vanilla Sky, for all of its numerous faults? I intend to see Open Your Eyes, which seems a painfully-revealing title to me, but nonetheless I really like that movie, even if the ending was a little dodgey. Watching Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind made me think that Kaufmann could hhave written it in a way more palatable to the average reality-bender bug.

Tom Meade, 11:38 pm