under big full moon, watching it rise from the roof of the apartment where me and the people are staying. it's a beautiful evening with a chill in the air, colours are vibrant in the last few moments of crystal dusk, pinks and splendid splash of red, a yellow moon looks down upon the inoculated city. i see the hive from a new perspective, checking out landmarks with my birds eye view we crowd a balcony with red wine, laughter and silliness.
later i eat a big dinner and drink very good wine with the people, oh yeah big night out with tickets to give away. i wander around outside the venue talking to random people, offering two tickets for free. a romantic couple get the gig, rickie lee jones. i am inside the small club, it's filling with jazz cats fast, everyone drinking their drinks and talking like philosophers. i'm wearing black and have my beatnik beard, find a seat around the corner from the be bop stage and tune into some old framed photographs of the cool age. 
i meet some new people, bump into old friends, i am the centre of attention unwanted, it's a crazy night out, rickie lee jones is unwell, she's overdosed on cough syrup, how rock and roll she jokes. she's fighting a cold, her band are very young and accomplished she's okay, not really my cup of tea but you know...
i return to the apartment, have a shower and try to fall asleep in a big room. it's uncomfortable, i can't sleep, tossing and turning around like some sort of fish in it's last throws. 
it's a nightmare. i'm fucking exhausted. 
when i tune out it's deep. float tank deep. 
in the morning we drive to newtown for coffee, it's very nice wandering around like a over tired, over worked, unwashed and dazed jazz butcher. i sneak into a book shop, i eat some sort of hipster breakfast. in glebe now, we drink coffee with a strange man who insists we are invading his personal space as he makes his mobile phone calls, 'it's a fucking cafe man, not a monastery,' i whisper with my inner city edge.
we are heading home now, she drives in and out the lanes, foot down hard like a female steve mcqueen, like a groovy getaway driver. 
everything bleeds out from the day, centrifugal force has sent me to the edge, spinning on my orbit with a shower and my own bed.