Chapter 4. The City Sleeps

The City Sleeps

Morning comes. Shelley and my friends are still über sleeping... or whatever Know-All… All-Know… whats-his-name, called it.

I’ve had about three hours sleep and still have that headache above my right eye. I take some more tablets then go to the kitchen to make a cup of tea.

I have some toast and flick the TV on out of habit. The now usual vision of test patterns is all that’s on. I flick the TV off again.

It’s Monday but I guess it would be a waste of time going to work. Normally I’d be pretty happy to have a day off but there’s no one to play with and hanging around the house is becoming really depressing.

I decide to go for a bike ride. I grab my helmet and bike and head out the door.

Riding through stalled lines of cars with their sleeping occupants is a very strange experience. But on the plus side, I don’t have to worry about cars pulling out of side streets. Or doors being flung open as I pass cars parked alongside the kerb - which actually happened to me several years ago, I ended up in hospital for two months thanks to that thoughtless wanker.

Soon I’m heading toward the CBD on the bike trail that follows the freeway. About fifteen minutes later I arrive at the point where the trail meets the river. So far I haven’t seen a single soul; asleep or otherwise.

I have no particular plan of where I’m going but the skyscrapers of the CBD looming ahead seem like a worthy destination. I keep following the river and eventually arrive at Southbank, where I find a number of people lying on the concourse; couples and small groups mostly.

The restaurants are all closed but some bars are open. A bouncer is lying across the open doorway of one. I lean my bike against a wall and walk in, stepping over the sleeping Polynesian giant. Inside is kind of eerie. There’s some disco lights flashing and twirling about, casting multi-coloured light across the sleeping punters and staff but the only sound is the hum of the air-con and the fans in the spotlights.

A girl behind the bar must have passed out whilst pulling a beer. Her hand is still on the lever and there’s beer all over her and the floor. The tap is dry now; she must’ve drained the keg and the lines. That would’ve been a sight to see.

I gather from the closed restaurants and open bars that whatever made everyone fall asleep must have happened after midnight. This would help explain why there wasn’t anyone on the bike paths; no one in their right mind uses them after dark - because of the people not in their right minds who use them after dark

I leave the bar and walk my bike along the concourse. I find another bar but it’s closed; the sign on the door says it closed at 1 AM. I presume the big sleep must have happened after then.

I cross the footbridge over the river and into Flinders Street Station. Locked steel gates prevent me from going through the station so I have to go the long way around, via the path beside the river leading up on to Swanston Street.

As I pass the Flinders Street intersection I see cars lining the street, occupied mostly by young drivers and their passengers. Typical Saturday night revellers either heading home or on to another bar or club. I keep going up Swanston Street past the famous Young and Jackson’s Hotel. A police car, with it’s blue lights still flashing is parked on the left, a couple of cops are lying in the gutter next to a guy who, by the looks of his dishevelled appearance and the puddle of puke his face is in, may have passed out before the big sleep hit.

By the time I travel the few blocks up to Lonsdale Street I get the picture. There’s no one awake and there’s nothing to see here that can help.

Out of desperation I scream out, “CAN ANYBODY HEAR ME!” but my echo is the only reply so I head home.

Copyright © 2006 Steven J Scott

Distractful