Lazy Java Sunday

Near noon @ Java beside the Sun Theatre, Greek town—or Yarraville at least once was—en route back from Bunnings Warehouse! after picking up the possum basket. Advertisement-like gathering both sides of the sunny street for a bank or homewares. Exchange from adjacent tables one row up: What’s its name? Invisible under the table from behind. Toby…. Broad gleaming dental row for the enquiry and the wordless response beside his mother, wife opposite. Sensibly the chap opposite his own paramour answered after an understandable pause….You can call it what you like. Both run aground; giggles that didn’t get out. Fake grass 25-30 metres to the end of the street, last night’s football telecast providing the inspiration for young children with their mums and dads. Overhead heaters—it was feeling a little unseasonably warm even after the ride. Shaun Micaleff dozen face-out in the bookshop window, comedian you could tell by the cover photo even if you were way off the pace here. Crazy guy. Children aplenty, some screaming because of the inadequate provisioning as parents sat at their tables chatting. The birth rate must be on the up with the affluence, same as in Africa. Iron trees sculptured and patterned like in the iconic Singaporean Gardens by the Bay that featured in selfies right throughout Asia mainly, the new iteration taking the place of the former everywhere. Make-up, brows, lippy and nails even on a Sunday morning—the contemporary Sunday observance. Street cool throughout without exception—puffer jackets, richly woollen knitted scarfs & caps, soft shoes all in subtly concealed brands. The tasteless and dowdy went elsewhere for their brunches on the weekend; they were dissuaded here. First Viets/Chins happening by clearly marked apart as if branded. In inner Sydney that might no longer be possible in any assembly of one hundred; many other corners of Melbourne likewise you’d wager. The Greeks had almost entirely melted in the pot here. (The Balkan eye could of course pick them out.) A number of admirers of the wheels; one or two furtively and another voicing his appreciation to his little boy or girl. Ah! You forgot didn’t you. You were the cutest chappie on the street. Highly individual. Enviably. Our Lawnie Robbie had found the thing on our own street a couple of months past, on the nature-strip directly in front of the Studio no less. Rather eye-catching. Brand new and all snow white: the frame, pedals, inner rims and leather seat it looked, with cross-hatch patterning. MOJO BIKE. The assumption had been it was Haze’s before her collapse proper. Done the decent thing Robbie, knocking on the front house to enquire. Ya, Haze’s, Nina at the door thought; for the taking. Didna have to be told twice Robbie. Thank you very much. $480 advertised online. Haze was indeed a style queen of the natural, Op Shop, patina/unique bent. Get around to the cafs, the supermarket and wine shop, had been the filmic inspiration. (French classic film.) Rubber fibres were still sticking up from the tyres—never seen the road this MOJO mover. Word subsequently followed from housemate Kristie that she had in fact never laid eyes on the particular object; not possible it was Haze’s. Of course Kristie would know; could hardly have forgotten. Hhmmm. Interesting…. No hard evidence, but suspicion now fell on only one other possible candidate: the Sing Chinese gal opposite with the two Mercs (white) and three poodles (reddy-chocolate the one seen to date; colouration of the others forgotten from two years prior). Lady had gone blonde herself since the last visit. Lost weight too, but likely had thought better of pushing outdoors in the unforgiving winter. Where to store it too? Get in the way in the garage. A sighting of the gym in the back would settle the matter. (Our Bosnian refugee had built the super-size pair of Semi-D ten years ago.) Woman had of course preferred to leave the item out on the opposite side of the street in case the Council here objected, pensioner tripping up; &etc, Born and raised in Sing going back to the early days of the more astringent guided democracy, it figured. She would never own up of course.