Everywhere tarmac and concrete, not one flower in sight. I don't know why they call it Darlinghurst, doesn't look like anyone's darling to me. I was standing on a hillside looking down on a crowd of two hundred people so that put an end my theory about the world going flat again. There were so many people he sang in the street like a busker.
People around were smiling or crying or turning to each other and saying 'I didn't think it would be this moving', as he made it to the corner with his little green plastic folder tucked under his left arm. He shuffles more than walks, awkward body awkwardly controlled. *He sang two songs, made a hundred people cry then walked off around the corner and was gone.
It was one of those stupid Sydney moments where the heat lifts moment to moment as the storm starts breaking into a sunset. Nobody does a sunset storm at a gutter party like Sydney but I didn't really care. A friend was sharing her big old bottle of beer with me, I had just met Everett True but I could have been listening to white noise on my ipod for all it mattered to me. I suppose I was moved in that whatever is inhabiting me today took off its hat and bowed its head when it first saw Daniel Johnston shuffle up there in front everyone Newtown, Surry Hills and Chippendale could spare tonight. I suppose that was me sitting in The Falconer eating dinner and drinking wine and writing in a notebook but I could have been watching a movie of me on my ipod for all I care. I suppose it is good that in the movie of me eating dinner I chose to eat somewhere that looks atmospheric. I would apologise for not making sense and for not being poetic about it if I cared, but I don't. Go borrow a book from the library.