Brisbane at high gears

The day of my arrival. Eight hours old jet-lag.  All goes quickly.  A small advertisement.  Car to sell.  Purchasers all the day.  A semi-final round of cup.  Cramps.  Balls of soccer.  A flashy referee.  A spittle.  A beginning of rough explanation.  Calm!  A red card finally yellow.  Broad victory.  An euphoria quickly contained.  You want to go out?  Of course, make me discover the night of Brisbane.

Bris Vegas by Night

An Alibi.  A soily burger.  Girls pass in front of my amazed eyes.  Miniskirts.  Huge low necklines.  Supported glances which do not hide.  A beer, the first. Not a big taste.  You'll see, you'll hallucinate!  It is already done!  We walk in Brunswick street, direction Fortitude valley, of the name of the boat which brought the first migrants.  A reverend accompanied by his flocks come to evangelize Aboriginals, first present in these places.  Violences.  The white settle.  They create their community there.  Pioneers.  Armed with their Bible and their civilizing belief.  The Aboriginals are parked.  Cathedrals are built.  St Stephen, Pray for us.  We pass in front of a church.  Transform.  Den of Gothics.  Suicide machines tonight.  A whole program.  Backs which break.  Heels which lose their balance.  Hi guys!  Two chubbys, drunk.  A Hello! then we continue walking.  Not time for them.  No more time for them.  Should return to lie down.  A tongue behind a window.  A smile which says a lot.  She seems to be keen on.  Forget they make that without realizing it.  Fringe Bar.  You will hallucinate!  Techno music techno.  Blondes, brunettes, redheads.  The den of this youth.  All more beautiful than the others.  Men, concupiscents.  Like those of The World According to Garp.  Read it if you can, you will understand me.  The glances are heavy.  The bodies mix.  Your beer.  Thanx.  All have glass in the hand.  Or are on standby.  A huge crowd at the bar.  Difficulty of making its way.  The employees take their step of dance, clearing such of eels through this aquarium.  Their baskets filled with empty glasses and bottles move a such ship in the storm.  Finish your beer, I bring you to Press Club.  Queue.  A security guy at the entry.  He makes us to wait for.  Two kids overtake us.  ID card.  I am soon thirty years old and I'm asked to prove how old I am. The sexurity guy apologizes to have made us have patience.  I am irritated.  But finally entered.  Full bar.  Girls alone, men in hunting, couples.  Average age higher than Fringe Bar. My order at the bar.  Obliged to play of the elbows with a dickhead who refuses to make place.  Exchange of kindnesses per interposed glance.  Large leather settees.  A small scene, to accomodate a group Wednesday and Sunday.  A giant ventilator.  Embedded in a section of wall which separates the room into two.  Many buzz. Many movments. That's life!.  The windows are wide open.  The passers by observe fauna and the flora.  Filtered lights.  We distinguishe with sorrow the faces.  I smell myself there badly at ease.  Excuse-me mate.  An employee collects with his brush the cigarette end which I have just thrown to ground.  No worry.  I am tired.  We return?  Ok.  We leave.  The taxis thread in front of the exit.  East Brisbane please!