There's a stretch of paving behind the building, along the Yarra. It's over the bridge, and heading towards the Westgate, so apart from the few people living in the apartments there, there's no one around. Directly across the river is a small wharf, and a huge construction site, hoary with scaffolding. I don't know what they're building, carparks or apartments. There's a crane set up on a barge, floating in the middle of the river.
I've taken to going out there to my own personal mooring post and eating my dinner with my feet hanging over the water. It's quiet. Right on seven o'clock is when the trash and clean-up barges are being towed back in from the shipping docks, with thick men in saggy overalls sitting and content to do nothing as they move up stream, the sun setting behind them.
Seagulls attend me. The laziest seagulls I've ever met. They don't work for their scraps. They sit in my shadow and chirp every now and then to remind me that, actually, they're still there, and waiting. I can get them to within a foot of me. Yesterday I brought bread crusts with me, and cultivated my own flock of adoring worshippers.
So you've started on the road to godhood. I'll start worrying, though, when your worshippers are less lazy and don't take bribes.
ReplyDeleteI don't believe I'm capable of being the sort of god that cultivates unlazy worship.
ReplyDelete