7:00 am – go outside to check that my car windows haven’t been smashed. Success! Today is going to be a good day so I decide to work from home.
8:00 am – make a big song & dance to my housemate about which cafe I’ll be going to. See, one doesn’t simply live in the inner North and not fancy himself a coffee connoisseur of the highest order.
8:30 am – on my walk to the cafe I reflect on how good my postcode is while dodging deposits of bodily fluid on the street. The sweet smell of stale piss makes me smile every time.
8:35 am – the barista can tell by the peen-tip beanie and gap between my pants leg and my shoes that I’m a sophisticated inner-city mover & shaker. He also knows I’ll be sitting here for 3 hours after ordering 1 coffee.
9:30 am – spot a couple of chicks checking me out. They probably think I’m working on an exclusive launch of a radical art show at a location they’ve never been to. I’m actually just scrolling through social media saying “my dude…” on people’s posts.
11:45 am – I can sense the barista has had a gutful of me. To smooth things over I drop some coffee knowledge on him. I tell him I brew my own fair trade cold drip and if he ever wants to level up his game to give me a shout. He dreams of splashing heated milk all over my stupid face.
12:30 pm – now if there’s a topic I think I know more about than coffee it’s conti rolls. My combinations aren’t “lunch” they are works of art worthy of being displayed at The Pinacoteca di Brera in Milano. Yeah, I add the o, it’s called culture sweetie, you get that when you live in the inner city.
1:00 pm – I catch up with a couple of mates who are dressed like they know a thing or two about Japanese jazz fusion. We discuss the state of the street art in the area and how we are literally better than everyone else because we do our grocery shopping at Golden Choice. They don’t have to know I really shop at Woolies because I like to shoplift.
2:00 pm – you guessed it, I’m also an expert on pastries from Bakeries. So it’s off to Chu to line up but unlike all the other sheep I’m doing it ironically. We are not the same.
2:30 pm – The Barefoot Investor can’t be angry at me if I’m lazing on the grass at Hyde Park while walking my designer dog in a little coat. Yes, I’m a grown man, yes, I’ve exceeded my splurge account and yes I’ll be calling mum for a little loan later.
3:00 pm – roll on a needle. Oh goodie. I don’t bother heading to the emergency room anymore because my body has built up a healthy resistance after a few years in the inner city.
3:45 pm – being an underemployed Nepobaby is thirsty work. So I call a girl who hasn’t worked out what a joke I am yet and ask her if she’d like to grab a drink.
4:30 pm – I quickly get the “bad news” out of the way that she should head to the GP to get a little checkeroonie before the “good news” – my rent is going up $100 and unrelatedly I’d like her to move in.
5:15 pm – she says she’d have to think about it. So I fill the air with my thoughts on how the bar scene used to be way better around here. She’s too young to remember the Scotto but that won’t stop me going into huge detail about my prowess at Big Buck Hunter. I was a god at that game.
5:45 pm – after 45 minutes of talking, I realise she’s vegan. I forgot that I tell people that I am too and perhaps the impassioned demonstrations of slaughtering digital deer has sickened and confused her.
6:30 pm – I come home to find yet another passive aggressive note on my door about my tunes. Why can’t these strata plebs appreciate my taste in music at 2 am each night?
10:00 pm – I’ve found myself excessively high again so I decide to order some food. I then wait in glee to have the 5 minutes argument over the phone when the delivery man refuses to navigate the large strata complex to come to my door.
11:00 pm – I can’t sleep again because the cheap piece of crap I live in has walls thinner than a British dentist’s patience. Love it though.
