I walked around Sydney with a chest cold. The day itself was cold with a slate grey sky hanging low over the city. I'd already taken two days off work during the week because of this chest cold. Anyway, I was pretty happy with the new letters. They were shorter and more succinct. Punchier in the way they delivered each story. I dropped three off at a photo exhibit in Paddington. It worked out because the exhibit dealt with, among other things, letters so I was able to position a few of my own in the display. After that I went to the book store on Oxford St. I was hanging around, assessing the situation, and I noticed a group of people sitting at a conference table on the third floor. I picked up a book of letters written by Raymond Chandler. (Yes, it seems like everything is about letters these days. Mine, other people's...) and I eavesdropped on these people. I thought they were a book club. Or a writer's group. At a certain point, I interrupted them and started delivering the spiel (no political, pornographic or violent content. No money). They said, sure, leave a few letters with us. Fantastic! I spread a few letters out on the table and when asked, I explained what I hoped to gain from this project. Eventually some sort of following perhaps. Enough material to compile into a book. One of the women there gave me her business card and said, I am hiring writers. You should contact me. She was blonde and wore a red leather jacket. I told her I would definitely contact her, put the card in my back pocket and left after thanking the group. Going down the wooden stairs, I realised that I may have cut the conversation a bit short. Wasn't part of the point of these letters that they instigate a few random conversations? That I met a few people who ordinarily I would have the opportunity to talk with? I guess I was a bit worried about being too intrusive.
After that, I went to the Bitter Phew. I'd dropped the 'Trevor' letter off there last weekend. The Bitter Phew is one of the best bars in Sydney. The staff, the product (craft beer) and the decor...all quality. I drank an American IPA and thought about asking the bartender if I could leave a few letters around. I wasn't really feeling it but once I'd finished my beer, decided I should make the effort. When I explained what was up, he said, 'Oh, that was you'. I'd left the letter outside in the smoking area, propped up on a beer keg. I remember on that day the bar began filling up with people as I went to leave. A birthday party was about to begin. Someone had turned up with those large metallic number balloons. A 3 and a zero. The bartender told me that once the letter had been discovered, it had gone through three pairs of hands. The first couple of people who read it-members of staff-thought it was real. I apologised and said I wasn't trying to fool anyone. The bartender-who I think is one of the owners-when on to explain they thought that the letter had been written by the birthday boy's father. I was pretty happy. This is exactly what I'd been hoping for: a blending of fiction and reality in some way. I asked the bartender if I could leave a few more and he said, 'knock yourself out. As long as I know.' Which was fair enough. I left the 'Ryan' and the 'Jo' letters. Two guys sat down and picked up one of the letters before I had a chance to leave. They seemed to be enjoying themselves, reading it aloud. I had no problems with this. Good or bad reactions were better than no reaction.
I shook the bartender's hand and took off. I caught the 380 to Circular Quay. I wandered around the MCA looking for an opportunity to leave a few more letters around. I sat in on some chick's video installation. It had something to do with 747's, teapots and childhood in Oz. it was all very ethereal and dreamy. I just sat back and let these dislocated images wash over me. After that, I found a few spots, left 2 more letters and then I called it a day. I needed a bowl of noodles and a beer.
After that, I went to the Bitter Phew. I'd dropped the 'Trevor' letter off there last weekend. The Bitter Phew is one of the best bars in Sydney. The staff, the product (craft beer) and the decor...all quality. I drank an American IPA and thought about asking the bartender if I could leave a few letters around. I wasn't really feeling it but once I'd finished my beer, decided I should make the effort. When I explained what was up, he said, 'Oh, that was you'. I'd left the letter outside in the smoking area, propped up on a beer keg. I remember on that day the bar began filling up with people as I went to leave. A birthday party was about to begin. Someone had turned up with those large metallic number balloons. A 3 and a zero. The bartender told me that once the letter had been discovered, it had gone through three pairs of hands. The first couple of people who read it-members of staff-thought it was real. I apologised and said I wasn't trying to fool anyone. The bartender-who I think is one of the owners-when on to explain they thought that the letter had been written by the birthday boy's father. I was pretty happy. This is exactly what I'd been hoping for: a blending of fiction and reality in some way. I asked the bartender if I could leave a few more and he said, 'knock yourself out. As long as I know.' Which was fair enough. I left the 'Ryan' and the 'Jo' letters. Two guys sat down and picked up one of the letters before I had a chance to leave. They seemed to be enjoying themselves, reading it aloud. I had no problems with this. Good or bad reactions were better than no reaction.
I shook the bartender's hand and took off. I caught the 380 to Circular Quay. I wandered around the MCA looking for an opportunity to leave a few more letters around. I sat in on some chick's video installation. It had something to do with 747's, teapots and childhood in Oz. it was all very ethereal and dreamy. I just sat back and let these dislocated images wash over me. After that, I found a few spots, left 2 more letters and then I called it a day. I needed a bowl of noodles and a beer.
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