#1 malleable beings

Dinner consisted of a foot-long Subway sandwich (cut in three; tomatoes, pickles, and carrot for each) and ice cream. We were at the Darling Harbour, the three of us. During the walk from Railway Square we talked of A, who seems to haven’t located herself in the her own heart, let alone the heart of others. We sat and ate while the sirens go off and men and women with neon sticks around their arms neck and feet ran towards the Harbour Bridge. The night seemed vibrant, with tourists, runners, diners, kids, all wait for the hourly fireworks at the pier. Winter is finally over, and here Spring greets us warmly. But this wasn’t what you came for, as the three of you find your way to the Metro Theatre, took out your IDs and hands marked with black crosses. Here was a new venue, a new crowd, a new band, but the same old accomplices. A was here to have fun. F was to listen. And you to just soak yourself in the music. To feel those reverberations,  those vibrations in your being. But I suppose transcendence feels much sweeter. So we settle ourselves with such moments of bliss. It was not until ten that the band appeared, people – girls mostly – were filling up the front line so you got tired of standing and just sat at the stairs. It was nice, to hear an album played out before you, and everyone singing along to the words, moments of utter silence to listen to the words emptied out to the audience. Preachers of the modern age, you thought. Also, was an encore no longer an encore but just another routine? A wondered whether it was a strange sight, or contradictory, to see the three of us, all clad in tudungs to watch a show. Perhaps, perhaps. We went home, each stumbling through the night, watching people still crossing streets at midnight, catching buses, sleeping at sidewalks, shouting at one another. One wonders if the city ever sleeps. But our time was over, and time it was.