by Martin Anton Smith
So I walk down to the New Bridge rest area,
By the mighty Clutha River.
This is a monthly jaunt of mine, give or take.
I go to let loose some of those bastard excess stress molecules.
Sky, Water, Trees, Birdsong & Green – It does us all well.
Even the Grumpiest of assholes will feel better.
That’s right – I am in In small town New Zealand.
I walk down the rocky old alluvial river-track to the destination.
Bounded by willow trees & flowing water on one side & scrub on the other.
After five minutes I get to the rest area.
There he is!
The rough sleeper.
Middle aged.
Dreadlocked.
Face is beaten but not out.
There’s a dormant spark there.
I’m sure most people don’t see it.
They’ll judge immediately & avoid.
I’ve talked to him at least four times before.
He’s witty, & has a hearty laugh.
We are roughly the same generation – Gen X.
We talk of the great days of youth when bars were full & people had fun.
Sure it was all a lazy form of fun,
But at least people knew how to kick up heals back then.
We both agree that the ‘younguns these days’ take themselves way too seriously.
They don’t know how to have fun.
Not like our glorious generation did!
Poor sods those digital natives – born with a trashy computer strapped to their hands.
Nothing good can come of that.
We sound like old timers, which I guess we are becoming.
Call us ‘beginner old-timers’.
This time I have a six pack in hand,
I was going to crack open a few & take some home.
I give him a beer, he cracks it open like it’s the finest Bougelet wine, & so do I.
“There’s two more of those coming too” I say firmly & democratically.
He’s happy.
We spin some more yarns.
The conversation turns a little dark – a habit of mine.
We agree the ‘system’ we’re all born into, is a giant scam of evil genius.
Where the very many slaves think they’re free, or well off even.
You see, it’s all about expert brainwashing & reducing the slave’s options.
He’s like me – he can talk about depressing stuff like this,
And yet really enjoy it on an intellectual level.
It’s a weird happy form of misery –
but I’m probably gilding the lily –
But to be honest it’s probably a main of misery with a side of happiness.
Depressive types tend to be like this – & this includes all intellectuals.
But for now it suits me to pretend I can be happy talking about miserable subjects.
Maybe it’s just a lazy form of escapism.
But there must be some merit in it – Christ himself essentially said ‘The World sucks’.
Too soon, the beers are now all gone.
I say “Hey you hungry, I’ll shout you some fish & chips”?
Yeah “sounds great” he says.
So of we trudge to the chippy.
We arrive, we sit outside as is his choice.
I order two packs – one for him one for me.
Five fish bites & a scoop each – again, it’s democracy in action.
The food comes out & we tuck in.
A guy and his kid come out of the chip shop.
The rough sleeper engages these starngers like they’re old friends.
The dad is friendly & says his boy is autistic.
The boy sits down with us & the rough sleeper offers a chip to the boy.
That will turn out to be unprofitable.
I eat all my food quickly – I wolf it down.
Alas I grew up poor, that’s what people like me will do for life.
The rough sleeper eats very slowly & engages in a long-winded chat with the dad.
I wonder – maybe he grew up in a well off family?
Meanwhile the kid nonchalantly eats half of his chips & three of his alloted five fish bites.
I jump in & eat the fourth fish bite, for some reason this seems logical.
We can’t let the kid eat all of his food!
Oh well, at least my rough sleeper friend had a minor feed.
The kid & his dad leave.
“I hardly got any of those” says Rough Sleeper.
“Tell me about it – I had to eat one of your fish bites”
We laugh.
I get my car & drop him off to his hitchhike spot over the bridge.
he’s gotta go to Dunedin.
He tells me vaguely that somethings going down on Monday.
I don’t press him for details.
Before he gets out, I empty my car’s weighty change jar in his hand.
I’m guessing he would have got at least twenty-five bucks.
I’m thinking that’ll help him get a better feed at the next port.
I’m glad I helped me ol mate the rough sleeper.
I think to myself if he had five to ten people like me, he’d be totally on his feet in no time.
Yes – I’m feeling good that I helped him a little.
But then I would be lying if the two thoughts didn’t cross my mind.
‘Will I live to regret this’
AND
‘Is this guy really a rough sleeper – I wonder if he’s a Govt agent sent to spy on me’.
Then I realise.
New Zealand’s too useless to come up with a potential ‘great spy’ like rough sleeper.
I purged the thought.
I haven’t seen rough sleeper for three weeks now, I’ll be looking out for him.
After all – he’s a bloody great New Zealander!
Well, so far at least.
I really should have remembered his name.
After all, me & him have actually have a lot in common,
I’m probably just five to ten per cent luckier than him.
That’s the slim margin between rough sleeping & somewhat relative comfort.
The snobs of the world that screw their faces up at rough sleepers,
Who are mostly just time poor slaves – should recognise that brute fact.
But then again, he’s probably a lot happier than them anyway.
Their own lives is their own punishment.
After all –
As me & ‘rough sleeper’ contend
It’s all a mega-genius-evil-system – with its own internal logic…
But so long as you know it….
You can still eke out a genuine smile…
Even while under heavy fire from the enemy….
(or was it just the free beer?)
Till our next democratic tutorial ‘slash’ lecture ‘O Rough Sleeper’!
Down by the ‘new bridge’, with the ‘old bridge’s’ pillars looking on.
With the mighty Clutha River just passing though.
Anton Martin Smith Writer 