Coltrane in the Avenues (Part 1)

Whenever I find myself driving through the Avenues after dark, I tend to flash my lights at the hookers. Catch an eyeful, if you know what I mean. It’s a pervy habit and I really must stop it sometime. I would have tonight, and I would have told Titina some yarn about showing her something really cool or whatever, in case you were wondering how I would have pulled it off. I would have made it seem like it’s just some fat joke but actually I would just be getting a big old pervy kick. I really must stop. Chamu knocks some sense into me. Really has me thinking about stuff before I do it. Get’s me thinking. The bugger. So I keep my lights on low beam as we weave our way to the corner of 3rd and Baines.
The other thing I like to do, and I really get a rush from this, is to drive up and turn past the old State House and take a mean old look at the guards there. God it gives me such a bloody rush! See, they block up the whole road running past the State House and they have all these spikes and drums and things all in the road. They even have a set of flashing amber lights blinking on and off right in the middle of the road just in case you don’t see the damn spikes and drums. And so you drive up the road until you get to the where the drums are and then you have to turn left and carry on down that road, past the end of the State House, to where the hookers can start flashing you and stuff. I swear the guards at the old State House are such a riot. Real serious fellows. You can hardly see them when you drive up. And then when you least expect it they suddenly appear and you see them holding their crazy rifles and standing there in their fatigues and helmets and boots and whatnot. They’ll put a bullet in you real quick if you do anything stupid like stall your car or fart too loud. They really will. Such a crazy bunch. Such a heady rush.
I mean, these boys, because that’s what they really are these guards, they can get quite mad at times. I’m such a risk-taker, is what I am, when I take chances with these blokes. I was driving past this guarded place the one day. Traffic lights were working that day, that time, and so I was at that corner waiting for the light to go green and all. Guess what happens. Two guards standing at the corner. Red eyes. Smoked out on military grade cannabis sativa – or a strain thereof. Eyes with an orange tint – matching their presidential guard berets. These two boys are standing there watching the traffic and having a soldierly chat and then the one guard walks off the curb and starts talking to the lady in the car next to mine. I’m saying, the lady was in the lane next to the curb and this soldier boy has his rifle slung over, bullet-end pointing at this poor lady’s passenger-side window. You don’t hear me. I’m also saying that this unfortunate lady had a child strapped into a car seat in that same window that the business end of the rifle was pointed at. So soldier boy saw the open window, noticed the rather decent-looking driver and decided to make his manly advances of courtship. Hand on his rifle and he was chatting away, dropping one-liners like Tehn Diamond on that rap stage. Expecting a quick response like the crowd at Tocky Vibes’ concert. On my honour, the sticky remnants of it, the lady was shaken. I guess soldier dude felt his lines were hitting home in solid fashion. He kept on and moved a bit closer. Our lady went from shaken, to stirred, then terrified. I couldn’t see her lips moving of course, but I imagine she went from frightened gasps to frozen stares. Bayonet almost sticking through the little child’s window. I swear to Thor I was going to get out of the car and stomp over to that toy soldier and tell him exactly what’s what! Standing there gleefully thinking he has frozen a pretty girl into stunned silence with his wit and yet his bleeding rifle is almost in her poor baby’s left nostril. I swear I was. I really do. I didn’t though. The traffic light turned green real quick and then I had to drive off, if you really must know why I didn’t.
Oh boy, these wanky guards. On a good day they’ll be calling drunken boys over from the entrance to the Keg & Wench and forcing the poor sods to do a spot of push ups in the dirt. Urgh man. I could tell you more stories about these damn blokes. I really could, and I know some good ones. I won’t though. Maybe another time when I’m up to it. I’m snooty like that sometimes. Oh, and the crazy bit, no one lives in the goddamn place anymore. I’m not in the mood for a spot of AK47-inspired exercise tonight, so we just drive on home.
When we get to the gate at my apartment block, the guard is asleep, as usual. Real cosy job he has. He’s a really cool bloke though. The sound of the engine wakes him up soon enough and he’s squinting through the gate in no time. I like him because he’s not the type of guard that you have to speak to in high English and be all snobbish for him to respect you. I hate those guys. He is one of those guys who come to town from some growth point out in the sticks and is just forever grateful that he has a job and an income. So he recognizes me and then he pulls open the gate and waves sleepily. The cool bugger. He’s also not the type of guard that is always asking for a dollar all the time.

The crazy thing is that it’s still only a short while before ten o’clock. So much has happened and so quickly that I had this crazy notion that it was well past midnight. I really must drink less. I must also start collecting vintage Italian supercars. I’ll start tomorrow.
My complex has 32 units and on any given day two or three will have loud music playing through until close on midnight and sometimes well past. It’s not so bad, the sound doesn’t really carry, and, if you have your own music playing then it’s not so bad. Good old Avenues.

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