An hour after my arrival in Halifax had left in me in a conflicted emotional state. It was Saturday; the ARK was closed - we'd have nowhere to rendezvous with national hobos, since neither of us knew the hangout spots in Halifax. There was nothing to do except what we'd done in dozens of other cities for dozens of other hours - stand on a street corner and look useless. At least there was a few hours of light left.
For the first twenty minutes, me and Squanch stayed together, with a friend she'd synchronically reunited with the moment we got dropped off. Twenty minutes was too long to tolerate his drunken ramblings and the dissonance of his credit-card-picking on his ancient single-stringed guitar. I figured I'd find a scene more rewarding, and left the fool and her raspy crack-punked friend behind.
That being said, I remembered that my social anxiety makes me useless. Without friends by my side, I can't make room for new ones. I met a couple high school stoner kids, their eyes glazed into burning embers. They lacked the east coaster accent I'd awaited, but they humoured me (or was it the other way 'round?) as I played them a didgeridoo riff and had a quick conversation devoid of meaning. The experience - my first truly social encounter in days - left me exhausted and depressed. Introversion is a daunting ally to a traveler.
I wandered down to Spring Gardens, one of the more urban streets in Halifax, and set my sights on two hobos drinking a bottle of vodka on the front steps of an abandoned house. I joined them - those who wander the same path of life love to converse, and I found some relief in the brainless interactions that ensued as the ancient floorboards creaked beneath the weight of our asses.
Satiated by a couple shots of the vodka, I realized that the situation wasn't helping me at all. Sure, I'd got my 'social' fix, but I craved intelligent conversation. This brainless blather was more of a detriment than silence, only serving to drain the energy from the few brain cells I had left.
Obligated by their generosity, I endured Tim's fractured rambling and Jack's heightening fury at the state his new girlfriend had just left him in by foregoing their relationship. The vodka was downed, his complaints tripled in volume, I grew tired and left their yammering voices behind. Even with each pedestrian's eyes carving judgement into my camouflaged backpack and my soon-to-splinter didgeridoo, I felt like a translucent spirit wandering the crowded streets. Judge me as they will, I'd only ever be a fading glimpse; and them the same - two egoic travellers, wandering lost in a galaxy built on individualism.
What to do with myself in a city where I had no friends?
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