As curious an entity, as bullshit writ on silk.

A text message conversation that occured between 0600 - 0700 yesterday:

James > Stephen
Would you believe that I just a: walked past the PBH (Pyrmont Bridge Hotel) and saw someone I know drinking and b: stopped by and had an eye opening shot of sambuca? Jesus I'm crazy.

Stephen > James
How was it? Confrontingly honest?

James > Stephen
A bit rank. I regretted walking in, then snuck out when they were programming eminem on the jukebox and plotting to steal a bottle of johnnie blue. Breakfast?

Stephen > James
Yes.

James > Stephen
Nice. Do you realisee that if we weren't the staunch heteros that we are, these breakfasts would be considered dates?

Stephen > James
Some of us stauncher than others.

Nikki > James
When are you coming back? Can you please bring oj as well as milk? Thanks.

James > Nikki
Guess what? Steve just admitted he was gay!

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The weekend came and went in the usual way: the working week winded up on Friday, and commenced again as everyone rose on Monday morning. Not so for James. As a shift worker, he enjoys a variety of working times, sometimes more, but usually considerably less total hours than his normal counterparts.

As a gent who enjoys heavy punctuation, Maggie Alderson's column in the GW and socialising with friends, this life suits him down to the ground. As a result, the routine tasks most people take care of on Sunday afternoons are usually reserved for anywhere between Monday and Thursday, but never ever Fridays.

It is this charmed life that allows people like James to do things like chuckle at his own blog, spend four hours doing one load of washing, and re-read a novel that he didn't enjoy the first time by a very pretentious 20-something from Perth. Note to self: when first novel is published, insist on the author's photo containing myself scowling with a longneck in hand (nothing fancy, maybe Melbourne Bitter). Sometimes James does nothing at all but walk laps of his big bedroom and think about things. James is a lucky boy.