City Plaza for the re-cycle bins, the old trannie uncle again blissfully dozing in the chair, soaking up the aircon. Even at that hour sticky-sticky-pooh much worse than the day before. With the stores not opening until ten, no fear of being moved on. Who needed the vibration to get the benefit of the plush faux-leather caressing tired bones. No need; keep the coin in the pocket. $2 x 6mins. $5/10 & $10/30, lying back up-tilted in orgasmic ecstasy. Indo maids, tourists, elderly uncles and aunties; foreign talent too sometimes took turns there. There was no human touch of course, no sweet caress; that cost a whole, whole lot more. For a limited budget, for those who could not afford better, a short pamper was delivered in the chairs. A few days before the founder of the empire had gained a mention in the newspaper for his wealth. The name may have been on the list of the kidnapper who took hostage the old mum of the supermarket tzar a couple of years before, currently facing the courts. (During the planning of his scheme the chap had identified potential targets and listed intended purchases from the expected ransom: mouth-watering condos, motors, phones, jewellery, brand watches…) Peanuts the chair mogul was forking out for the space beneath the escalators & corners of the malls; manpower unnecessary, apart from the weekly collect and cleaning. Retainers for the adjacent shop-keepers to shoo away free-loaders… The old uncle was a regular mornings in particular; later in the day man didn't like to make a nuisance of himself. The shutters went up soon after ten at City P.—Hour & half untroubled run. The sec. guys, cleaners and lip-stick gals at the lingerie & dress joints all knew uncle. Before they lit up properly, womb-dark within. Fridays & weekends the carts trading over the floor made things less comfortable. The transistor was not needed laid up in the chair here; that was for the benches on the Voids beneath Block 9 at the Haig evenings and later in the morning and afternoon around either side of 7. Batteries lasted a week perhaps; new the echo in the caverns was like celebrity showtime. Uncle ran them down to the last whisper, clutching the unit close against his ear. It was not difficult getting to like the Chiang Kai Shek genre, by no means the worst hit parade on the island.
NB. Three years later the massage mogul had installed alarms. Press your ass on his plastic without coin in the slot, steel for the sirens, Buster.
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