3/6/2020

The plan was to leave at 8:00 pm because the place closes at 9pm. I had already gone there 3 times today.

As I headed out of my room, I found, loitering in the doorway to the stairs, an old woman holding her Iphone up to an instructional poster. It was the same person from yesterday, who has rattled on my doorknobs (and then disconcertingly flirted with me). She explained that she wasn’t very good with “wifi” and “technology” and asked if I could help her. So I did, and afterwards, during the process of thanking me, she began to voluntarily recount her fight with her son, and why she was kicked out by him. Are Australian grandmothers always so intermingled with alcoholism and marijuana abuse? My attempt to end the conversation was dismissed and met with photos of her cat.

Most uncomfortably, she would casually flirt with me during the entire conversation. Interjecting sentences with “I don’t mind a young man like you.” And “do you work out? You look like you do Muay Thai”. To which I would shake my head and then redirect her attention to her cats. One, I suck at taking compliments. Two, I’m just not into ladies. I mean, otherwise I wouldn’t be authoring this web-series right?

“Would you like to see how I got these scars?” She asked, almost rhetorically, and then proceeded to show me a 15 minute-long video of her stroking a cat, featuring a two-second scene where she was suddenly attacked, ending with a 5 minute corner of her making unintelligible sounds to admonish his behavior. On the unfortunate side, she was unable to remember the exact time-stamp of said attack, so I had my first experience with a cat video starring an old lady who was trying her best to get a reaction out of a cat that just didn’t care.

On the bright side, however, my eyes was gifted with two scrumptious gifts that must have been a reward from fate itself for my patience with this woman. I felt two backpackers tried to squeeze past from the stairs behind us. One was approximately my age, with wavy black hair and a childish face, and looked of Brazilian descent. The other one, seemed a couple years older than me, catching my attention with a cigarette tucked behind his ear and a deliciously scaped beard.

No one gives a fuck about your “bitches”, lady. I want to say to the woman. That’s what she called her dogs. I thought to myself as I stared shamelessly at the two boys walking past us. The second one caught me gawking as he entered his room, and turned to stare at me for a few moments, judging by his facial hair and overall appearance, I guessed he was either latin American or Japanese.

Was it out of curiosity? Alert? Or confusion? I didn’t know. But it was eye contact.

Two minutes later I saw him walking upstairs to the rooftop lounging area. I knew that was my chance so I abruptly ended the conversation with the woman, and proceeded to follow my prey, up the stairs.

As I pushed the door open I caught him sitting at one of the benches. It was just him, and the cold night’s breeze blowing from the river a couple of blocks away. It was 8:23 pm. I have to be there by 9. I don’t like rushing to places, but, I never skip an opportunity.

“Puedo sentarme aqui?”

I smiled at him.

He looked at me confused. Turns out he wasn’t Latin American, must be Japanese then.

“Sorry, my English. Is… bad.” He stuttered as he lit a cigarette.

Well, my Japanese isn’t so great either, but here goes nothing.

“Nihongo o hanasemasu ka?” I asked, in japanese, if he could speak Japanese.

“Yes!” He answered. He looked happy.

“Watashi wa shūrō biza de, keanzu shusshindesu……………………..” he trailed off into a monologue of Japanese which I couldn’t understand at all. But I let him finish cause I found it sexy.

When he’s done, I tried to explain that my Japanese skills are horrible, and he laughed in response.

But it was at that moment the lady from the previous encounter, opened the door to upstairs.

FUCCCCCCCK.

I thought to myself, as she waddled over to the railings close to our bench. She saw us laughing and I guess she must have caught on immediately. Because the next time I saw her, later that day, she looked at me with contempt and disgust.

I explained in Japanese that I have to go somewhere, and made a swift exit. It was true. I had to move some stuff into the storage since I’m moving houses. But that’s another story.

The warehouse closes at 9 pm, and it was 8:40. I had an Uber ordered and it was 1 minute away. I hurriedly retrieved two boxes of my stuff and made my way downstairs.

As I rushed out of the hostel I realized I didn’t get his name, or his number. As I got on my ride I saw him leaning against the railing from the rooftop, looking back at me. He took a sip from his cigarette, its cinder flickering against the night sky.

“Better hope he’s a slow smoker.”