Sunday, November 13, 2005

Brunswick Street

the street is a buzz of activity. You liken it to an outdoor market, though there are few stalls and her set up is linear. It has the feel of a market, though it is not. She is Brunswick Street and she is glorious on a Sunday spring afternoon. The past few times you have traversed her narrow pathway it has been accompanied by a slick soft rain. The kind that makes everything slightly blurry, a shinny road the greys in the buildings highlighted by the clouds but that is not so today. Today the colours in the signs and on the walls shine beneath the golden rays of sunlight. You take off your denim jacket and eat your ice-cream standing near the wall of a Greens store and watching the girls walk by in their couture kitten heels. You like this juxtoposition of trash and high class. Life is not homogenous and neither is this bustling walkway. You notice it all; The old homeless lady, the dog feeder, the boho wench, the glasses wearing walking white man afro and the sloppy thongs on surfie types. You feel comfortable in fitting in. How could you not? It's too eclectic to be considered a certain style and too eccentric to care.