The hotel room wasn’t ready yet, but there was no time to waste! I was super stank. I needed a bath before the inevitable skieving planes give. But that would have to be ignored as wild-excitement had me scurrying zig zags around the city. I guessed at directions, smiling at every passing life. Including plants. Most people must’ve thought I’d forgotten to take my meds. But I didn’t care, I made it to Australia!

There is something satisfying about building up a filth. Basking in your own grime, as if the grunge proves that the standard of living routine society insists on is obsessive and unnecessary. It’s a rebellious, self-satisfying testament to primal manhood. I just relish in it. –Thoughts of an Uncouth Professional**

Perusing the streets of King’s Cross, me and my giddy smile gleamed more exulting and spritely than the  Southern Sun. I discovered an open-air café, and some amicable gent to sell me almond croissant and coffee. $13. Peculiar, but not of importance right now. I strolled some, following the sun, as it must be in the East, which will lead me to the beach! Good in theory, bad in practice, but today it worked out. I was lead downtown, to the Opera House and through the famous Botanical Gardens. I was heeding context clues.

I was told King’s Cross is well known for prostitutes. Apparently, prostitution is legal. I then asked what kind of chicks they were.

“Aussies, mate”, matter-of-factly and with a pinch of pointing out the obvious. For some reason that wasn’t apparent to me.

Food, drink, women, scenic views, dangerous feats, and local thought guided the majority of my curiosities.

I walked and talked with an elder fella who could be me one day, but only if this world was a little different.  Parallel Universe theory thickens. I paid mind to the morals of his short travel stories and he enjoyed my jubilance and questions.

I returned to the hotel just in time for Justin’s arrival. I finally had my shower, which was glorious, and cleared my earlier thoughts on hygiene. We walked Sydney for hours.  Finally, we commenced over dinner with our lesion to this land Downunder!  That evening, I crashed hard, almost on my medium-rare fillet and Riesling.

Before first light, I hurried over to Bondi Beach to watch the sun rise and take photos with my Cannon t3i rebel. It didn’t have a memory card in it. This was unbeknownst to me for another 3 days. It’s actually humbling and fun to fumble through life out-dumbing myself on the daily.

The sun rose over the coast, sparkling off the lapping waves. The beach sprinkled with morning athletes and Monday surfers.

I snapped some amazing photos no one will ever get to enjoy. I made a friend! He was the alternative universe’s Auggie, Athan! A proudly perched pup, watching the ocean, enjoying a good pant, oblivious to everything not obvious. I joined him watching the waves push their way to the sand, then drift away. I snapped an awesome profile shot id Athan with the city blurred in the background, waves glistening in-focus in the foreground and the gold sun rising behind.

I hurried back to the hotel by way of the subway, hit the ATM, joined my crew, and we hopped a taxi to the airport.

Uluru, sometimes known as Ayer’s Rock was a 4-hour flight, where Justin and I caught up on our vein affinity for thy selves, in a theatrical and snappy manner. We then concocted strategies for snapchat and our own personal profit.

It’s difficult to appreciate how barren the land down under is, until you fly above for several hours, seeing about as much excitement as you would over an empty ocean.  Most stunning was the massive rock, ULURU. We’d landed in the expansive, vast, impossibly infinite, Outback.  Only 67 hours from the time I left my Manhattan apartment. 17 thousand kilometers away.

*a made up word

**A working title of the chronicles to be released upon my fame, death, or never


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