Capuccino, a trip to Fraser Town

Sitting alone with a cappuccino, I try not to look deliberately at the beautiful girls, the cafe is full of them this afternoon. Each time I lift and turn my head I catch a nice face and I wonder how it got to be that good. These are very young people. An unkempt man behind me has put his feet up on a chair in front and and has a laptop open. He is not as young as the others. I do not belong here, I beat it.

Driving over to Fraser town, I walk on the pavements of Spencer Road and Coles Road. Fraser Town was a coveted district before; these roads now have no character, much filth, too much noise. My car is parked before a hideous building: Spencer Castle. An apartment block opposite this building (Belvedere Court) and another after the junction are the only two that are clean and decent to the eye. Muslim mechanics from a used-car dealership play cricket on the busy street speaking cricket-words in their accent. The whole district appears to be the in the hold of Muslim and Christian people. A church property has tried to ward off urinators, without success, by drawing religious symbols of Hindus, Muslims, Christians all across the wall; many (probably non-believers) have gratefully relieved themselves even against the symbols. Perhaps they did it at night when couldn’t see.

On Coles Road, a large board announces the telephone numbers of institutions that citizens could contact for assistance regarding power, water, other civic problems. Written below are the hand-phone and other numbers of the local corporator, ward 9, who has probably foisted the loud and large board there, obliterating the home behind it. Driving away, I see his name written in similar fashion, more garish, on the walls of a park compound. The corporator is probably blind; he needs the citizens to call and tell him of the filth. I wonder if he cannot also smell.

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