I noticed that a note had been slide under my door sometime between 6am and 1pm. The first words said “LAST Notice” and I was worried that I was being kicked out of my room. Shit, I like it here, and I don’t want to leave yet.
I read on, though:
LAST Notice
12/04/09
Due to early morning bad remarks and threats made towards me, I’m informing you to keep your own door. Due to my LAVO –orders from 4 years ago given out to Royal stalkers. No further notice will be given. If you don’t keep to yourself, 100 commonwealth police will approach you. You already have a permit AND –order not to approach me. Don’t breech the order. My royal guards are watching you! You are wanted for Copyright of my Royal Palace reputation and Services. I will Summond (sic) you with 100—police cars if you try anything. Keep to yourself, stranger. Don’t talk to me, don’t follow me or I, will call my police to collect you!
The Psychiatric Doctor. Dr. Catherine.
Minister of Correction Propriety.
Englands Palace Propriety.
Telstra Propriety 1975.
Rogue Traders.
With my sleepy, blinking eyes, I felt a bit anxious at first. This person is fucked up and might kill me. But then I chuckled to myself and took my morning piss. Since I had to pay for my week’s accommodation today, I decided to go downstairs, pay, and show them this letter and see if I should be alarmed or something.
“Oh, yeah, she does that,” the girl at the bar shook her head and smirked a bit, “Yeah, I lived up there last year, and I got a letter like this, too. I think each new person who moves in gets one of these. She’s harmless, though. Like she’s never done anything. She’s just lost a bit upstairs. I’ll let Alana know, though, and she can have another talk with her. I apologize for this, though. I really am sorry.”
I assured her there was no need to apologize and that I got a kick out of it. Quite the present left by the Easter bunny.
It’s a humid day today, and it looks like it’s going to rain. It feels like it’s going to rain, but I still went for a walk to Glebe, ate some pizza, had an iced coffee and found a place that sells A&W root beer. This is the first time I’ve seen root beer in Australia. It was made in the US and was made with high-fructose corn syrup. It was delicious.
I found a park bench not far from Glebe Point Road, sat down with my can of A&W, and read some A Farewell to Arms. Ah, I thought, it’s been a while since I injected myself with some Hemingway.
After reading maybe a chapter and a half, I saw a man approaching me out of the corner of my eye, a man who I knew would ask me for money.
“Excuse me, sir, do you have any change to spare.”
I’m easily convinced sometimes, and dug a dollar coin out of my pocket.
“What’s that book you’re reading?” he asked.
“A Farewell to Arms. Hemingway, “ I said.
“Yeah yeah, I’ve heard of him. He’s pretty famous?”
“He is.”
“Where is he from?”
“The US, born around Chicago.”
“Where are you from?”
“The US, born around Chicago, too.”
“Oh, really?” He widened his eyes and rubbed some sparse whiskers on his chin.
“I’m Frank. What’s your name?”
“Kyle.”
“Kyle, have you ever met an Aboriginal?”
“Yeah, I’ve met a few.” I might have smiled at this point. He smiled. He looked about 60, but he carried himself with energy and spoke more eloquently than I had expected.
“You like it here?”
“I do. Especially Sydney. I really love Sydney.”
“That’s good. That’s good. It’s a great city,” he motioned his hand towards the skyline off in the distance.
“What do you do?”
“Not much of anything really. I’m trying to write a book. I’m maybe half way done.” I hate telling people things like this. I don’t know what I do.
“Oh, like Hemingway?” He nodded his head in acknowledgement.
I smiled, “I hope so.”
He thanked me for the change I spared. We shook hands, and he said goodbye.
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