The following is an extract from an Epic Poem Series called “One Night in the Tron” (ONIT) . Essentially a tale of wayward barfly’s and night owls over the course of 24hrs in Hamilton NZ.
This is Charlie, everyone knows Charlie.
Charlie/Chaz appeared in a previous poem, "ON IT Drugs at the Party"
The events detailed here, lead up to Charlies appearance at the above party, for anyone interested in the time line.
Thanks once again for your support.
1. arise he woke abruptly, from perhaps…a suffocating snore the smack of a dropped stack like he fell through the floor his first morning gasp a deep inhalation it filled a balloon and panic stations breathing out a plume of flammable fume pungent and toxic like a corpse exhumed t’was the first sign of responsiveness the first glimmer of consciousness those first shards of sun piercingly bright like a surgical laser adjusting his sight electrically pulsing with fits of bright flashes he peeled open his eyes his sleep crusted lashes there were his eyeballs floating in soup fighting to focus adjust and recoup with nauseous waves in a groggy daze adrift in the queaze of a foggy haze his resuscitated limp and flaccid soul fought for a thought to take back control flickering but bickering to make sense of it all where had he been? where did he fall? where the hell was he? where could he be? thinking… why the hell does this shit keep happening to me? 2. surprise he’d awoken to the sound of cartoons, he is in someone else's bed. a Great Dane is staring at him, two feet from his head dark mystic hippy paintings, a horror mask on a set of drawers. a protest flyer pinned to a curtain, there is a ukulele on the floor confused in his surroundings with the dread of something grim that bloody big Great Dane is still staring straight at him how the hell did he get there, where was he and who is that but the answer was bloody obvious, it all came flooding back 6:30 am Friday morning in some foreign part of town he wondered what she looked like and then she turned around he remembered she was a vegan and she had a mate called Rose he thought she was a punky girl with holey pantyhose but she liked Michael Jackson she kept asking for his songs in every pub that they crawled through when the night was getting on two random girls he had met when he had lost his phone when he was about to leave the bar to catch a taxi home but then he saw them sitting there he thought he'd say hello and sat down at their table and lost the need to go it was pretty bloody convivial, they were laughing lots burning through the cigarettes, doing rounds of tequila shots something tweaked his interest, maybe the blueness of her hair, the way her eyes did sparkle when Rosie whispered in her ear the way the light caught her piercings, her multiple tattoo’s, her self-deprecating humour, or was it just the booze? she wasn’t a frightful sight, in fact the opposite was true she was just so damn intoxicating, so what’s a man to do? he’d woken up beside her she hadn’t kicked him out. he was hung over like a bastard thought he best not piss about so he asked her for her number and he did the walk of shame tonight he's going to ask her out but he did not catch her name. 3. return to base ...and what do we have here? a nocturnal remnant? disheveled club wear does the walk of shame with pillow hair shielding his eyes from the glair of the morning sun and judgement stale tobacco, night sweats and booze repugnant a pungent musk amongst a perfumed morning dew and crisp whiff of eucalyptus a shortcut to take past the lake like a pickled park pukeko gingerly dodging goose dumps and ducking puddles, speed bumps and the chicane of bright faced brisk paced city lake circlers the Fitbit queens luminous stretch pants dressed to be seen sport pram mums with handbag mutts squeaky clean aerosol fragrant gilded lilies in lavender latreen fresh and frisky on the morning routine designer water bottles elevated heart rates no doubt enroute to latte dates and rabbit cuisine but he wasn’t one to judge his throat a dry desert of dehydration his was on the trudge without transportation he cared not for swans and pigeon poo nor morning fresh and honeydew ten minutes earlier he’d left her bed his focus was home his heading was set and escaping the park he was back in the burbs manhole covers, utility conduits. and crumbling curbs hide away driveways and morning commuters rubbish bags recycle bins school kids on scooters needing a rest he found a wall with a ledge leaning back for support he fell through a hedge and a branch caught his forearm ripping his shirt and tearing his skin and it bloody well hurt and lying there bleeding and cursing the day picked himself up and was back on his way. 4. rinse the roadmaps in his eyes suggested he’d taken a wrong turn he had run out of gas had no more to burn pissing in the bowl with a neon glow from the Berocca he took an hour ago he sprayed lynx like an extinguisher attacking a fire to stop the stench of alcohol he was about to perspire he flushed with Listerine he gargled and spat he put drops in my eyes to stop them looking like maps he dropped Panadols like party pills when his head started drumming he sunk Powerade by the bottle full he knew what was coming he splashed water on his face he ran a comb through his hair with a quick mirror check he got into gear sanding the shadow from his jaw the stray greys in his complexion in that moment he saw dereliction in the reflection the truth was on display a reminder youth had slipped away and lawns must be mowed to keep up appearances sustained and maintained a perception imperative to complete the makeover in this mornings routine he looked for a shirt that might have been clean he ran out the door whilst he was tucking it in ready as he’ll ever be, for the day to begin 5. rave - the networking error. everything seemed normal at first except for the occasional burst of enthusiasm and gusto amusement and whimsy as if tipsy but merry and decidedly cheerful uninhibited loose lipped ill equipped but careful aside from the increased heart rate that seemed to flutter and fluctuate which was not unexpected in his current state it did affect his ability to concentrate although he noticed his focus was less focused he was sifting like a drifter sniffing at the roses and surveying noses their odd looking shape how the nostrils did flair when the mouth was agape like little caves with the shrubs at the entrance he lost track of your words halfway through a sentence as he stood perusing other noses in the room he tuned in to it, and his curiosity was fully consumed until he caught a whiff of someone's perfume that waft like the sherbert of a blossom in bloom and it turned him around like a bug eyed cartoon looking back at you and not a moment too soon your mouth was still moving, same subject I assume but a lick of drool had spooled in the corner of your frown it had leaked while you were speaking and was dribbling down and it glistening in the light catching his eye he stopped listening for a second, distracted by this stream of spit that you couldn’t keep in picking up momentum, rolling down your chin. a momentary lapse with his mind again straying without the slightest idea about what it was, you were saying? 6. repeat - later that evening he was well suited to this kind of work it’s where he felt most free remaining convivial in the trivial in civil company he shot the breeze with dignitaries and assorted attaché trading fears on current affairs and the topics of the day a real quick wit, with etiquette a dapper sort of chap with chutzpah and charisma and energy on tap a room working circle jerker a gifted jabberer an opportunist hunting man and a tid bit gatherer weaving through the gathering with courteous like hosting tipping hats, dropping winks and frivolously toasting he came across a curious soul somewhat less expected on the fly, she caught his eye and left him less collected a cordial introduction her friends just call her Bubbles a single lass amongst the mass of well appointed couples he offered her a glass she said she’d take the bottle her foot flat on the gas a good grip on the throttle eyes that flashed like shattered glass they sparkled deep within hair the colour of ebony she had a sly and cheeky grin a natural aphrodisiac a girl of grace and wonder she brought everything to the table she was sure to drink him under her voice was deep in register she grumbled and she growled with a doom impending rumble of a rolling thunder cloud a certain huskiness about it that could ripple through a crowd a resonating quality without it being loud somewhat taken back she had his full attention he was smitten like a puppy on the brink of hypertension he was star struck in bewilderment she whispered in his ear. “this party is pretty boring bro!! let's get out of here.”