The Adventures of Barren Luckless pt 2 (work in progress)

It was a gusty spring Saturday night. The birds were not singing, In fact I don't have a clue what they were up to and they have nothing to do with the story. My house was unclean, dirty dishes and dusty ashtrays clustered around on the floor. A thin but noticeable layer of dirt blanketed the linoleum and stuck to the soles of my feet.1

I couldn't sleep. Every time I tried, my brain would switch to rapid fire. I sometimes wonder whether my mother may have been huffing lead paint while I was in. 2

So my brain is spinning like some clockwork mechanism from antiquity, and I'm lying down with my eyes stinging. Grudgingly, I admit defeat and I get dressed into my fancy gear. Twenty seconds and I’m walking into town. It is midnight. The wind has blown the flowers around; releasing the combined scent of a cityful of flowers which is an amazing contrast when one considers the stark, grey nature of Hobart.3

After some time spent humming 'those were the days' by Mary Hopkins and walking, I eventually reach a safe haven.4

This bar is called the telegraph.5

I had no money and no I.D, so I was going to rely on my wily skills and a fair amount of luck to get in to the place. The guards have all met me at one point or another and many have thrown me out.6

I’m standing in line. People everywhere, all in such finery. Cigarettes and glasses of alcohol in hand and they're chatting ceaselessly. I'm standing, thinking that there is no way I'm getting into this place because they’re checking the identification for everyone. I'm next in line, hand in pocket, I'm about to tell the man that I've left my identification inside in my bag, that if he lets me in I'll go get it. Sometimes that line works. 7

Instead, he simply lets me in, "you’re alright mate come froo" he says. Stunned, I walk in. I guess it was the weird fucked up beard on my face; I can't afford razors so I don’t bother shaving.8

I regain composure and then promptly throw it away again. The place was packed.9

One cannot walk in a straight line; one must fight against the crowd to move an inch. It is an absolute frotters paradise, so much rubbing and bumping.10

The game face came out. First thing on the agenda, have a slash. I can safely say that i ticked that off the list. Second thing on the agenda, find a drink that someone has neglected and 'tax' it and finally the third thing on the agenda was search the floor for money that these rich drunken fools may have dropped, then pocket it. 11

My first time I came to that pub I was horrified to find that by about 7 at night, the floor turned sticky, but I used that to my advantage in the end. I got my shoes sticky and then surreptitiously stamped on several 2 dollar coins- got me a drink and enough coin for a packet of beer nuts.12

But i'm not having much luck. No one has parted with their drinks and no one has dropped any money. goddamn rich fools can't be relied upon for anything.13

Then the band starts. I begin to wonder what made me risk coming out into the unsafe non-sensical world. It certainly wasn't the band. 14