A guy ran past me. He lifted his knees high and dodged old ladies, weaved through kids with rat's tails and bogans in fluro work wear. When he got to the escalator he stopped dead still and waited to reach the top. I walked up the stairs and beat him to the top. (I walk up stairs two at a time. It's so fast. Sometimes I get motion sickness when I reach the top I'm so fast. This is manifested in heavy breathing and forehead sweat). As soon as the escalator flattened out into it's final conclusion the passenger ran off again. Maybe walking on escalators was considered bad manners in his household. Maybe as a boy during dinner after a trip into the city his dad had a quiet word in his ear "Son, I noticed you began walking on the escalator today. I don't want to see that again. An engineer spent years refining his work, making marvelous steps that tinkle their way up to heaven. Walking on escalators disrespects the toil and torment that went into their design. It's like saying 'thanks but I'd rather walk'. It's not the right type of behaviour for a Bellahussen. That's why I always say thank you to traffic lights when they go green. I'm at once both recognising the wonderful job they're doing, an often thankless job, and paying my respect to the genius that invented these fabulous post-bound traffic plods. Now come here and give me a kiss. No tongue. That wouldn't be appropriate."
I ventured to the northest north of Perth and came back alive. On the entry to the freeway that whisked back into greener pastures I saw a sign. It was handwritten in the scrawling hand of a goldchain wearing drunk. It pronounced "I Buy Houses FAST! Call me on 02927123087313". It seemed like a good deal. You have a house you want to sell. You call Marcus and he drives over fast. You say "would you like to have a look around?"
"No time!" he says and twitches his fingers. It's not often you've seen someone wear a business jacket, shirt, tie and tennis shorts.
"I'm looking at ...." You say but Marcus interjects.
"Yeah, yeah, I'll take it"
"You'll take it?"
"Today! I've got my stuff in the boot. Give me a hand with the boxes"
"But I haven't.."
And Marcus marches in with an old cardboard box full of liquor and dog-eared porno mags.
He can't pay today. Or the next week, even next year. But he's bought your house alright. Yeah he's got an idea and it's going to make a ton of clams. Big money. Steak money! Crayfish money! Thai suits money! So could you leave? He'll sort out the paperwork over the next couple of months.