It is currently the afternoon of the morning of. I’m in bed, not sleeping because I checked my UMAT results and looked at Facebook photos of our high school graduation. I’ve had about three hours sleep yet somehow, I’m still awake.
But anyway, to my story.
Last night (or you may even say, this morning), I experienced the possible life of a not smelly and welcomed hobo. How, you may ask. And how is what I shall tell you.
I will not linger over the melancholy, the annoyances, frustration, nor the mediocre loss of will power, and just go on to say this. We went to a club, an Asian club to be specific (I’m Asian), and being the youthful seventeen year old that I am, and many of my friends are, I got rejected, along with my other friend. She was preoccupied with getting back in and then later being sickly and tired, so she didn’t really feel the same thoughts as I did, as I pondered the cold night alone in my mind.
Quick add in, we tried to jump the gate after getting our IDs confiscated, and then became the prey of the fat Asian security guard who later came and bought a burger where I was eating a burger and my friend was sleeping…
Anyway, after giving up, we found ourselves helpless in the boring jungle of darling harbour, where the only sanctuaries of warmth, fun, and entertainment, were available only to the elders of the land.
I found myself unwillingly entrenched within the cold winds of the treacherous two am chills. And it dawned upon me, maybe in not so much a dramatic manner, but this is what a hobos life feels like. This was the first time I’d been out all night and into the morning, with nowhere to be and everywhere to be rejected. It was like walking through the crevasses of the Patagonia whilst only wearing, well, exactly what I was wearing. A short sleeved loose top, flowy short shorts and heels. Warmth, fell into the abyss of the nightclub.
(I’m really hungry while writing this now).
We had sat outside the club talking to other people which was pretty fun, then we were forced to move as I was dubbed, “The Jumper” (fuck you fatty Asian poo face). Nearing the end, whilst waiting for the rest of them to finish partying, we went to a burger place down the wharf and I ate a burger whilst my friend slept. Much company. Highlight of the night, some semi-cute guys came to the burger place, I told my friend, she cared not, and that was the end of that.
But where is a good place to stay warm in the city, where you’re allowed to be? Maybe if I had more clothes I could make myself substantially comfortable by the wharf, but, that’s just life isn’t it. The trains don’t fucking start going until around four, and we had to go back to charity (yeah) at six. And with that time to kill, we did it most classily, at the notorious McDonald’s where I quenched my undying thirst with OJ and some free water. Satisfying? Moderately.
So tired though. Being so physically tired from sleep deprivation feels like dragging your body through a vat of honey. Fuck. (Was that simile cliche? Oh well, nothing ever said is ever original these days, and I am surely not a lyrical genius).
Anyway, so I suppose clubbing is a bit like being a hobo. Or maybe being underage is like being a hobo. Or a mix of both. Okay, whatever.
Just Another Woo Girl