Whereto?

 

Whereto, then was the question. Near 10AM Mr T T tutup, despite hearing last night from the Tamil-Malaysian tea-maker that they would be opening late, namely 9AM, he said. In the morning the same was spied from the kitchen window coming along from his digs at Block 2, where his crew were housed (3-4 to a room likely). Therefore, as one does need to be somewhere, the PLQ Starbs, first in some long while, judging from the lad at the counter. (Frictionless cash only since Dec.) Oh, Golly! How could that dribble come as a surprise? Arrgh!… What would you call that fare that passes like sweet mead for the boomer / millennial tops? One headphone, one plug among.  Just as a tall, leggy bunny passed outside the window with pointed pink mounts atop her own phones. Now, was that remastered Bob, or the original Nobel? Uncertain. Tricky for a tin ear. Did the man sell his back catalogue to Amazon like some other star recently? Might possibly stretch out the neck, risk it and say, no, actually. The strain, the tight little effort spoke against. One tattoo, with black sunnies added when a wink of sun through the window emerged from the overcast. Lashes latecomer landed left. Soon every table would be claimed, just like on the last visit. Opposite the fluro pink in her 40s canna help blinking when she feels the eyes of the whitey upon her, scanning ever so briefly & ever so discretely. All four older chaps upper 30s-40s dyed. Black, apart from the guy on the end with a fade one side & mottled tan top. Not a single brolly among them—they could all manage to get where they were going from there later under cover, either walkways or underground. Not unexpected. All comfortably snug in the warm aural waters. How is it that 100m away the outlet at Kinex could crank up the volume so strongly? Managerial independence & initiative? Always dribble piddle around the ankles here, that was unchanged. The guy following Bob gave it some big yeah, yeah couple points, muted again and blank. Yesternite outta the blue Yasu sent from Tokyo John Zorn’s throat-slitting screeching from darkest, deepest jungle, as if from the past hereabout. Yeow-wee!! double-plus! The young hooded Asian lad in duet reminded of the kamikaze pilots hurtling onto the battleships. If you’re not screeching & screaming inside right now you were not paying attention, way outta it in your own little private world. Tearing suicidal screams for emperor & country, delivered with twisting & bowing by the hoodie. Amusing the other day Morrie referencing from schooldays the Whiter Shade of Pale thingy. Boy! Took a bit to reclaim that memory. Morrie musta bin seriously fixated. Ukrainian tubby on the bus last week with his wife in a Zeppelin tee had got on board those boys from the get-go, he said, complete collection all in vinyl. Did say he saw them in Moskva back in the day? Junior radical dudes by comparison with J Zorn, though of course we have spun some fair way further now in these short few decades. No sign of the robot in the hour plus, getting serviced & upgraded during the NY pause, maybe. Many still shuttered three days on, joined coincidentally by their Muslim countrymen this year. Expensive fold-up Velo needed to be brought indoors and sat by the table right against the legs of the author, with nary a word or sign. Soiled panama, plastic magnifiers & frayed Op Shop Levis shirt left the disguise rather threadbare now. (Blasted Op Shop Versaces busted clean in half during routine handling.) Task to keep the jowls both from hanging and also stiffening. The sage of course or the master. Excellent guides. Letting the music slip first of all, easy does it, loose & settled. Why allow yerself to be smashed so easily on an innocent Thursday morning. Ramadan & the Fire Horse, latter only riding over the horizon every 60 years. This year some more attention to the last ten days for the Mussies, esp. that particular odd numbered for when the prophet first received revelation. One single toothy gleam from the screens along the bench seat, and the three others against the inner wall diving the bar. Heavy Indian lad had been tickled properly.