12:30pm - walked here from Rushcutters and saw two stylishly dressed men outside Tropicana cafe, sniffing what I suspect was a popper. It is lunch time on a Tuesday. I think this is not right although I shouldn't be so close minded.
12:35pm - a bit further down Darlinghurst Road, outside the Kirketon Hotel, a posh lady gets out of a shiny, quite new looking BMW Z4. Her friend gets out the other side. Both are wearing dangerously high heels. The friends says, "Oh it's a bit too low to the ground for me." Driver who probably owns the cars, flips her long curly black hair. The friend then adds, "oh, but of course, I wouldn't not drive it, if it was mine. I love it."
12:50pm - picked up this week's street press from Spank records and Mr Murphy is there are per normal at his computer. I say hi and chat for a bit.
1:19pm - email Maddy and find out that the guy she's being temping for at her work who had a seizure and also has a tumor in his brain, only has days to live. Incongruous indeed. Upside is that she's probably going to have a salary job while she thinks about what she wants to do. (I spoke too soon.)
1:21pm - first guy comes in - balding, has some orange hair, slightly chubby, appears to be an office worker. I smile and say 'Hi'. He appears nervous. He's doing a second round of the gallery. It isn't a big space. 1:28pm he leaves down the stairs and says: "Thanks". I say: "come again". His voice is a bit husky and deep actually. I didn't notice that the first time.
1:29pm: Mark messages to inform me that the modem is in the bathroom. Luckily I've brought my own. The last time I lived without the internet for more than a day was when we road tripped to Scott's Head. Maybe I'll manage to disengage myself from the web of the world when we trip to Armidale to see Xavier, llamas and kangaroos.
When people walk pass, outside, their voices echo up into the gallery. I keep thinking they are coming upstairs but they are just passing by. A bike that sounds like a Harley Davidson zooms by to catch what must be a green or yellow light at the intersection of Oxford and Crown.
1:51pm – someone with really heavy and dense phlegm has just coughed and freed it from his body downstairs, somewhere – hopefully far from the entrance. (There is some sort of wooden object that is loose at the speed bump because whenever a car goes over it, it rattles. Not all the time just about a third of the time. Enough for it to be noticeable.)
2:14pm – a good smell is wafting through the space. I suspect its from the café downstairs. It makes me think I’m hungry. It’s a nice day outside. I’m kind of happy that my skin is being exposed to real air as opposed to processed air that has been conditioned to a certain temperature and fed through some thirty odd floors of the Kent Street building.
Do you drive one of those cars with a really dry, loud exhaust? Maybe there are two exhausts coming out of the back or even the front of your car? Do you accelerate out of the traffic lights so that you can be the first car to stop at the next set of lights twenty metres ahead? Do you wind down the window so that you can rest your right elbow on your car’s door and tap your fingers on the roof to a pulsating bassline? Please don’t.
2:25pm – second visitor – female and somewhere between maybe 25 and 30 years old? maybe a bit older but I don't get a close enough look. She’s got wavy, chestnut-coloured hair just above her shoulders and no bangs. Black footless leggings under her light blue, Liberty patterned printed skirt. Black ballet shoes. Black tote handbag. She seems to have a friendly demeanour and is interested in the photos. I wonder what she is thinking about as she looks at them. I should ask the next person this if I remember. She asks if they’ve been taken by a Holga. I guess maybe she hasn’t seen the advertisements? “Holga Diaries”. Now that she’s a bit closer I also notice that she’s wearing a very pretty jade pendant on a gold necklace. Nice. Lastly, she looks at the titles of the works next to the door. I can see from behind that she has bow legs like me. She looks back at me and says “They’re lovely, thank you” and leaves. Her visit ends at 2:30pm.
I wrote an email to this guy who I bought two zines off on Sunday. His zines sounded neurotic and self-deprecating. I emailed him to let him know that I had read them both and that they were alright. He wrote back a one liner: "Thanks". I guess he is trying to stay "in character" in his emails.
3:23pm - still waiting...
4:06pm - skinny guy AND his small dog comes up the stairs. Hmm... I guess that's okay? Oh well. They didn't stay for long. I rationalise that it has to be okay because dogs go everywhere in New York so they can't really be a problem, just that taking them everywhere with you is unusual. I think they've got really influential or at least very convincing animal rights activists over there.
4:20pm - someone must be standing outside because a female just asked that person, "Where is the nearest tattoo parlour?"
4:24pm - some guy is downstairs saying that he's coming up to check out the gallery. Cool! It turns out it's Ed. He notices that I'm not Mark and introduces himself. Ed does a quick look around and leaves. (Ed is Mark's business partner - they run the gallery together.)
4:26pm - another guy, very skinny wearing black stovepipes and black t-shirt and black hoodie with hoodie covering his head, comes up the steps, and asks if Ed was just here. Well Ed was just here and now he's left, and so this guy leaves without really checking out the photos.
4:41pm - a man who sounds drunk and old, yells out in his harsh croaky voice, "Long live the Cronulla Sharks."
4:50pm - Mark comes back. My day is pretty much over here. Two hispanic looking girls come up just before five o'clock and check out the gallery... it's my home time. Not too bad actually. Strangely fun.
So in total, about 5 people visited the gallery in my four hours of sitting the space. I'm not counting the dog. Maybe I should? because it's not nice otherwise?
On my way home, I think about what to cook for dinner. Originally, I had thought dumplings, but ended up cooking spaghetti. You can't really tell but I think Surry Hills is really on a hill and the Cross is lower down because I definitely felt that the walk home was much easier.
Window to my left and what it looked liked about 95% of the time.
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