Last night I was coming back from a production meeting in Kings Cross, on the very steep escalators from the Bondi line platform to the underground level at central, where I met some boys. They were drunken and cheerful and lost. I thought our exchange ended at the escalators ("Do you wanna come dancing with us??" "Nah, I'm on my way home, thanks though" etc), but as I was walking away one of them started singing Savage Garden at the top of his lungs ("I want to stand with you on a mountain, etc") and all his friends joined in.
I've never had a chorus of boys from Byron Bay serenade me with a 90's pop song in a train tunnel before. I smiled a bit, and blushed a bit, and gave them directions to Scubar.
This wasn't as weird as when I went to get dinner for the girls on Saturday night and a dude in a car on the opposite side of King St yells out to me triumphantly, like he'd just found a damsel in distress and was announcing to her that All Was Okay, For He Was Here Now: "Girl with the red bag and the yellow shoes: you look like my ex girlfriend!"
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