Day One, Is Anybody Watching?

After one night in the Melbourne Connection hostel on King Street, I can already tell that what I am doing is not as much of an anomaly as the reactions I received in Adelaide may have led me to believe. It would be nice to entertain the idea that I, Aidan Jones, am a trailblazing nomad beating down a path never before seen or even considered in the history of human experience... but would also be completely fucking retarded. There are like five-million people in this city, and I'm sure plenty of them have been broke before – welcome to the club Tugzy, grab a ticket and get in line.

Last night I met two people called Aaron; one is a short guy from Brisbane with scars on his elbows from 'fucking cunts up', and the second is a burly, heavy-set Englishman whose drunken slurrings, forever on the cusp of direct aggression burned themselves so indelibly into my memory that no further impression of his character will ever erase them. The final image of my first night in Melbourne is English Aaron screaming encouragement along the lines of, “come on son, fookin' that's ittttt” as Small Aaron punched him in the stomach, obviously upon request. I sat on the other side of the table as a passive spectator to their violent bonding and drank cup after cup of free tea; fishing the bags out with a dessert spoon and laying them down like some poor-man's defecation on a dinner-plate. A full range of characters besides these two made appearances around the table in the kitchen last night – talking, drinking, eating, swearing. One of them gave me a sandwich and I tried not to look to thankful... I'm not even sure if I am poor at this point, or if I'm just imagining that I am for the sake of an exciting narrative.

This morning I strolled around the streets of the CBD and handed out a few resumes. I am quietly confident that I'll have a job of some description, or at least a trial shift, by the weekend. Come on Melbourne you beautiful she-beast, I need you, I want you, come to me and deliver your spoils.

The following is a list of the things that I have forgotten, and realised that I may need. Obviously it is incomplete and will grow as I realise that life has requirements beyond warm clothes and access to the internet:

• black shirt and pants for bar/cafe work
• shaving materials
• soap (I considered bringing this but decided against it, not sure if that qualifies it for the list or not)
• shampoo (can substitute for soap)
• map or equivalent native guide

I guess that's about it... not so bad.

One night down, six nights still paid for to go. Eyes to the sky people, the Asian lady that asked me for weed last night told me that aliens are coming and if she's right then fuck, we all have something to be very, very afraid of. Every. Last. One of us.

Peace, Taco.