This post is part of a series that started in May 2017 when I had recovered from my mother's death and when I started to use a word processor for writing blogposts. On this blog there are quite a few of these posts and they are all labelled "collage". To make one of these posts I take notes while walking in the street and write up the experience when I get home.
At the western end of Pyrmont Bridge a middle-aged man wearing a grey sweater was walking with a girl aged about 14. She was hitting him affectionately on the arm. Behind them walked a middle-aged woman who had an adolescent on either side of her. I assumed she was the man’s wife.
At Kent Street a woman crossed the road against the lights. A white car was standing waiting to go and had the green light in its favour. It had to wait while the woman walked in front of it on the carriageway. A man and woman standing next to me commented on the thoughtless pedestrian. I said, “It happens all the time.” The man said with a good deal of irony in his voice that the woman who had crossed had reached fifty without getting killed. At the next lights, the same two people crossed the road against the lights. The woman had a guitar slung over her right shoulder.
At Hyde Park the road crew was repairing College Street and signs directed pedestrians to places other than the regular crossing, where they could cross the road. I turned left and crossed when instructed by a man in orange fluoro clothes. A policeman was standing in the carriageway directing traffic. More police were doing the same at the entrance to Art Gallery Road.
Two men were walking along the road under the trees. One man wore a T-shirt and shorts and carried an orange soccer ball that he casually threw around with his hands. His companion was wearing pants and a cheque shirt and had a rucksack on his back. He was smoking a cigarette.
Inside the gallery the ticket queue snaked through the lobby up to a self-portrait by Margaret Preston. A man came and asked if anyone wanted to see the Duchamp exhibition and a few people put their hands up, including me. The rest of the visitors in the queue were getting tickets for the Taiwanese exhibition. After the four of us went downstairs I bought a ticket and walked through the exhibition. On the way back upstairs I crossed the queue of people waiting to get into the other exhibition which lay in front of the escalators. They were almost all ethnic Chinese.
After walking up to the crossing outside the old Land Titles Office I joined a group of people waiting to cross the road. As I stood there a voice piped up behind me saying, “Are we ever going to cross?” I turned around and saw a family with two boys in it, one of whom was an adolescent. It had been his voice I had heard.
After crossing William Street a white SUV drove up College Street that had “Precision Worx” painted on the side of the car in red paint. The car had the number plate “PROPSI”. A little further along, a young man wearing shorts and a white T-shirt was walking toward me while talking on his phone. I heard him say a word or two as we passed each other going our separate ways. He sounded like a gay man out in the sun for the weekend, and as though he was talking to a special friend. I was instantly transported back to my youth, some 40 years earlier, to a time when I mixed with people like him in Darlinghurst and Paddington and Darling Point. As he was walking along I tried to read with my eyes where his feet were leading him but I couldn’t work out if he wanted to pass me on the left or on the right. Eventually, I veered hard left to avoid him and we went our own ways.
Going down Wentworth Street I stopped to wait at the traffic light because it was red and there was a man with tattoos on his shins, who was wearing shorts, standing on the other side of the street. I crossed against the light, after looking for traffic, and walked past him as he stepped onto the carriageway. As we passed I saw him talking to himself with a lopsided grin on his face. His hand was held to his chest as though he were in pain. Further down near the railway viaduct I saw a sign outside a noisy restaurant that read, “Is that a chopstick in your pocket or are you just pleased to sashimi.”
After walking through Belmore Park to Central Station I felt a pain in my abdomen so I aborted the train trip to Newtown that was going to take me to see a movie and walked to Pitt Street, where I caught a cab. The taxi driver took us round the back of Darling Harbour. He kept slipping the transmission into park when he stopped at traffic lights, which I thought was unnecessary.
I paid the fare using EFTPOS and entered my building’s lobby. Standing in front of the elevators were a young man and a young woman. The man was carrying a sleeping toddler. He wore shorts and a T-shirt. The woman wore a tight black dress that emphasised her hips. As I stood there the woman undid the child’s brown shoes and slipped them off his feet. By the time I got upstairs the pain in my torso had gone away.
At the western end of Pyrmont Bridge a middle-aged man wearing a grey sweater was walking with a girl aged about 14. She was hitting him affectionately on the arm. Behind them walked a middle-aged woman who had an adolescent on either side of her. I assumed she was the man’s wife.
At Kent Street a woman crossed the road against the lights. A white car was standing waiting to go and had the green light in its favour. It had to wait while the woman walked in front of it on the carriageway. A man and woman standing next to me commented on the thoughtless pedestrian. I said, “It happens all the time.” The man said with a good deal of irony in his voice that the woman who had crossed had reached fifty without getting killed. At the next lights, the same two people crossed the road against the lights. The woman had a guitar slung over her right shoulder.
At Hyde Park the road crew was repairing College Street and signs directed pedestrians to places other than the regular crossing, where they could cross the road. I turned left and crossed when instructed by a man in orange fluoro clothes. A policeman was standing in the carriageway directing traffic. More police were doing the same at the entrance to Art Gallery Road.
Two men were walking along the road under the trees. One man wore a T-shirt and shorts and carried an orange soccer ball that he casually threw around with his hands. His companion was wearing pants and a cheque shirt and had a rucksack on his back. He was smoking a cigarette.
Inside the gallery the ticket queue snaked through the lobby up to a self-portrait by Margaret Preston. A man came and asked if anyone wanted to see the Duchamp exhibition and a few people put their hands up, including me. The rest of the visitors in the queue were getting tickets for the Taiwanese exhibition. After the four of us went downstairs I bought a ticket and walked through the exhibition. On the way back upstairs I crossed the queue of people waiting to get into the other exhibition which lay in front of the escalators. They were almost all ethnic Chinese.
After walking up to the crossing outside the old Land Titles Office I joined a group of people waiting to cross the road. As I stood there a voice piped up behind me saying, “Are we ever going to cross?” I turned around and saw a family with two boys in it, one of whom was an adolescent. It had been his voice I had heard.
After crossing William Street a white SUV drove up College Street that had “Precision Worx” painted on the side of the car in red paint. The car had the number plate “PROPSI”. A little further along, a young man wearing shorts and a white T-shirt was walking toward me while talking on his phone. I heard him say a word or two as we passed each other going our separate ways. He sounded like a gay man out in the sun for the weekend, and as though he was talking to a special friend. I was instantly transported back to my youth, some 40 years earlier, to a time when I mixed with people like him in Darlinghurst and Paddington and Darling Point. As he was walking along I tried to read with my eyes where his feet were leading him but I couldn’t work out if he wanted to pass me on the left or on the right. Eventually, I veered hard left to avoid him and we went our own ways.
Going down Wentworth Street I stopped to wait at the traffic light because it was red and there was a man with tattoos on his shins, who was wearing shorts, standing on the other side of the street. I crossed against the light, after looking for traffic, and walked past him as he stepped onto the carriageway. As we passed I saw him talking to himself with a lopsided grin on his face. His hand was held to his chest as though he were in pain. Further down near the railway viaduct I saw a sign outside a noisy restaurant that read, “Is that a chopstick in your pocket or are you just pleased to sashimi.”
After walking through Belmore Park to Central Station I felt a pain in my abdomen so I aborted the train trip to Newtown that was going to take me to see a movie and walked to Pitt Street, where I caught a cab. The taxi driver took us round the back of Darling Harbour. He kept slipping the transmission into park when he stopped at traffic lights, which I thought was unnecessary.
I paid the fare using EFTPOS and entered my building’s lobby. Standing in front of the elevators were a young man and a young woman. The man was carrying a sleeping toddler. He wore shorts and a T-shirt. The woman wore a tight black dress that emphasised her hips. As I stood there the woman undid the child’s brown shoes and slipped them off his feet. By the time I got upstairs the pain in my torso had gone away.