On being Claire

I've never worked in the city before.  I've never wanted to, nor did I envy those who did. I do drink in the city though. I love the place. Sydney city is beautiful.

I now have the luxury of working, for a short stint, right on Circular Quay.  For those of you who have never seen the sun hit the sails of Sydney's Opera House, you must make the trip.  If you have not walked across the harbour bridge and seen the glisten of the harbour on a spring day, you must make the effort to do so.  If you have not wandered the bay of the botanic gardens...

I do this walk a few times a week, it's the luxury of working in the city, amongst the people who bustle around like ants, their heads in blackberries, shuffling their feet along.  Then there's me, chin in the air, eyes lit up like a child, absorbing these glorious sights, and the smells of spring.

There's a lane way out the back of where I work, a little dead end street, and at the corner in this lane way there is a tall bench with bar stools. The thing that grabs me particularly about this spot though, is the huge speakers installed overhead.  Let me paint the picture if I may. The bench sits in front of a large, curved red-brick wall. There are no windows in the wall, which stands maybe four meters tall.  There is always rubbish on the bench, left overs from lunch, so I know it is occupied at some point during the day. It is clean in the morning en route to work.  But at the end of every day, as I trundle off up the hill to catch the bus, from these speakers you can hear War of the Worlds, or some other narrative, blaring at immense volume from these over sized speakers.

I find this fascinating. The deep voice narrative to an empty corridor, adamantly finishing his tale.

But my trip home gets even more interesting that this, as when I get to the stairs at the top of the lane way, from time to time there are one or two smokers loitering outside the building that connects to ours.The first time I saw him standing there I had to double take. I looked back a second time, like a Cheshire cat, and grinned, as standing there, outside his place of employ, taking his smoko was none other than the Rollercoaster Designer.

I see him standing there from time to time, and he looks back at me with a vague recollection of some type, but he has no idea that I am Claire, with or without the e.