DING!
The bell sounded and the doors began to fold closed; the noise had made my decision for me. I watched, a little helplessly as the tram pulled away from my stop. Katie and Clark diminishing in size as the distance between us grew.
Katie would be disappointed; Clark would be pissed.
I turned back to the old man sitting next to the doors. He just sat there, smiling like the damn Cheshire Cat, the empty coke placed neatly on his left thigh, balancing despite the rocking tram. I took a second to size up this new distraction.
The man sat with a relaxed posture, as if he knew exactly where he was headed, but didn’t care how long his journey took. His brown suit looked well-worn and comfortable, the creases in the white shirt underneath matched the weathered lines in his dark skin. His outfit looked like it was meant for hotter climates and it looked worn more out of habit than a desire to be well dressed – although I suspect that in his mind they weren’t mutually exclusive. Suddenly the doors flung open again, indicating that the tram had arrived at the next stop.
I flinched.
Why am I so jumpy?
I had been staring at this stranger for far too long, something about him made me feel uneasy. Yet I had made my choice to stay and question this old man, so I was going to make it worth it. I moved forward and sat in my previous seat. The old man continued to smile, unperturbed by my actions, though he removed a broad brimmed straw hat and placed it next to the can of coke, revealing a short crop of salt-and-pepper hair. A gesture of courtesy perhaps?
Now that I was closer to him, I noticed the man smelled of tobacco. Not the coarse stench of commercial cigarettes, but something more exotic, with hints of pepper and vanilla. I struggled to think of how to open the conversation, I didn’t really understand his explanation of the betting game before. This oddity combined with everything that had happened during the lecture was quickly adding up to one of the strangest days I had ever experienced. But the man seemed knowledgeable, something told me my decision to stay on the tram would either throw light onto the strange events of the morning, or just make me more confused.
“So what will it be, are you playing or not?”
Well I guess that solves that riddle.
I hesitated, still trying to formulate a worthy response in my mind. The old man laughed, his face still creased by that pleasant and distant smile.
“So I see you’ve made your choice.”
For some reason that comment made me uncomfortable. Today was already too surreal for my liking, and my choice to stay on the tram discussing the insane ramblings of a very likely senile old man, was not making it any better. The man continued on with his discussion, clearly taking my company as a sign of interest.
“You see, Waltes was supposed to be a sort of ritual, played at weddings or special days; times with a strong connection to the spirit world. That’s why it’s so important, choosing to play and in turn choosing to cheat, would result in…consequences.” He paused and looked into my eyes.
“Far better not to play at all”.
This guy would be right at home in my neuro-psych lecture…maybe he and the lecturer were friends? Now that would be weird.
The thought of the lecture brought up the memory of my embarrassment, making my face feel hot. My brain was tired and it was only lunchtime. There was too much to process, too much to try and wrap my head around. I should have stayed in bed.
The man now sat, looking to me expectantly. I struggled to think of a response, when it occurred to me that he had repeated himself.
“But what’s the point of choosing not to play? Surely it defeats the purpose of the game if you don’t play at all.” My answer sounded significantly less abrupt in my head, but I was getting irritated at how cryptic this conversation was becoming.
The man seemed to accept this answer and continued “but what if you don’t know you are playing? Even more so, what if you didn’t know you were playing against a bad sport?”
I felt I had to reply with a worthy answer. Not really knowing where the words came from, I answered his question. “You can choose to face an honest opponent, but what if that guy had had a bad day and felt he needed to win? You could choose to face a dishonest man, but what if a sudden crisis of conscience occurred that morning and turned his life around? Choosing an opponent makes no difference in my opinion.”
The man sat forward, clearly excited: “Exactly! You may think you can choose your opponents but you can’t choose how they will play!”
My phone rang again, the ringtone sounding anticlimactic.
“Shit”
It was Katie again. I reluctantly click ‘answer’ on my phone’s screen and put the device to my ear.
“Hey Katie, I…”
Clark’s voice angrily cut in. “Dude where are you? We thought we saw you on a tram that just went by, if you missed the fucking stop, we are eating without you!”
Why did he keep using Katie’s phone?
Before I could respond there was a shuffling on the other end and Katie’s voice appeared, calm and lovely, in stark contrast to Clark’s. “Steve, is everything ok? We saw you go by on a tram, but you just stood at the door, like a zombie….why didn’t you get off?”
Clark’s voice reacted angrily to this, but I couldn’t hear what he had said. I had been dreading this moment since the old man had begun to talk to me. What could I say that would make it better? There was nothing, I could say that would relieve me of that special guilt felt when bailing on plans with friends, especially when you can’t even kid yourself that it’s a valid reason. I glanced next to me out of desperation, the old man seemed very amused by my struggle.
“Uh…hey Katie, Yeh I ran into an old…..friend after the lecture and kinda got caught up…” my voice trailed off as I feebly said “I don’t think I’ll make it to lunch.” There seemed to be more shuffling on the phone as Katie said “Sorry, what was that? Hey Steve, I’ll have to call you back, Clark saw Greedo coming and we had to hide!” and with that she hung up, quick to escape the grievance from our school days.
I looked up from my phone’s empty screen and suddenly became aware of the silence surrounding me. The tram still made its usual noises, bustling along its predetermined tracks; yet, the interior was quiet. The silence was intimidating, no one spoke, the music heard from headphones too loud had drained away, even the simple shuffling of feet and general bodily discord had diminished to all but silence.
The man in the suit who had questioned my Myki’s validation now stood stock still, his grey suit silhouetted against the tram’s windows, giving him a slightly ethereal presence. His smartphone hung loosely by his side an unfinished email waiting patiently. The woman next to him, wearing a red dress, stared out the window vacantly, registering nothing around her. And as I looked around the tram I realized all the passengers were the same, all of them, stuck in the same trance.
I was scared now, my confusion at the old man’s conversation and irritation at potentially ditching my friends for nothing was forgotten.
“What’s happened to them? Why aren’t they moving?” my question was meant with silence, yet movement behind me made me turn. The old man cackled, putting his hat. “Something special has happened today, something special happens every day.” I was not sharing his glee.
“What do you mean?
The tram rolled to a stop and the doors flung open with determination “Maybe choosing to play was as easy as getting out bed this morning”. The man tipped his hat as a goodbye and stepped off the tram, wooden cane clicking with each step.
“Are you going to stand there all day?”
What? I looked down and saw a short old lady trying to push past me, obviously not sharing my astonishment. I quickly looked around the tram and saw that everyone had returned to normal, the corporate man resumed typing his email, the woman in the red dress began reading a novel and the faint music from someone’s head phones had resumed playing. Not wasting any time investigating this phenomenon I grabbed my bag from beneath the seat and leapt off the tram searching for my erstwhile companion.
But I could not see him amongst the crowd. Damnit! He had a cane, how far could he have gotten! With a frustrated sigh I shouldered my bag and headed off in the direction I had come, I was thoroughly finished with strange coincidences and cryptic conversations. Perhaps I could still catch Katie and Clark now that they had to evade being see by Greedo.
I pulled my phone out as I walked, struggling to think up a good excuse to tell my friends when I noticed a message from an unknown number.
Your die has been cast, please go to 134A Linlithgow Lane to make your next move.
This day was quickly becoming my least favourite. But I was now faced with two more decisions and seemingly limitless consequences.
Do I try and catch my friends? Or do I investigate the mysterious message?
I took my time. This was my moment to bask in everyone’s attention, Katie’s attention and boy was I going to make a big deal about it. “I’ll go in with Gre-.. Callan” I announce proudly to the group.
“shhhhhhhhhhhhh” Katie whispered nervously looking around.
“Alright” says Greedo “As long as that’s the last time tonight that you yell out your plans to the whole of the campus. I mean we are literally 2 feet away, you baboon. ”
I look over at Clark expecting to exchange looks of bewilderment but I could see his genuine amusement. “If anyone comes into the building, we will text you right away capt’n” he whispers loudly, firing off a quick salute. As Greedo was hoisting me away, I saw Katie nudge him in the ribs. His wince told me that it must have hurt.
Once Greedo got us into the building, using his afterhours lab access, he threw one of his large salami arms over my shoulders and I could feel the dampness of his armpit on my shoulder. “Welcome to my kingdom” he chortles “We must climb the magic tower, to the top of the world and there you must go through the portal and open the gate for me, so that we can change history. “
I shove him off, enough was enough. “Look mate, I’m happy to work with you on this but you need to tone down the WOW element here, or I’m bailing. Either start talking sense or just lead the way. ”
Greedo malevolently grins and continues walking into the darkness and I am able to walk along quite happily, a few meters behind. More importantly I am able to escape some of his stench. His wheezing grows louder as I realise that we have come to a staircase, where we climb up four flights of stairs. With never before seen grace he opens a small window at the top of the staircase and manoeuvres his hand around the outside to open the door to the roof.
“Genius” I exclaim, probably extending my sentence to two more weeks of friendship.
“You see, Steven, OHS requirements state that all doors that access a roof must be able to be opened from the outside. It’s like they are begging us to break in or to be more precise out!”
Greedo walks out onto the roof, scoffing to himself, and quickening his pace. I follow along on the thin metal pathways over the roof, grasping onto a metal railings either side of me. The cool night air is freezing with the sweat on my face, which I hadn’t even noticed it until this point. The wheezing stopping ahead, informs me that we must have reached the restricted area of the building.
I look around and we are nicely sheltered from the pathways below. On one side, the roof ramps down to us and on the other side there are some glass panes. Peering through them I can only make out some dark rooms, with only a few shapes.
All I hear is my breathing and the heavy breathing of my companion. I feel like I should be able to hear some cars still leaving the university, the bustle of a tram or even a bat screeching. For the first time the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I turn to Greedo to voice my fears, but find his face centimetres from my own.
“Here‘s where you earn those sleep-ins that you desire, Steven. I need you to climb up through these windows.”
“No problem and I do hate to correct you, but these are solid panes. They weren’t made to open and even more shockingly don’t open” I answered, tapping the window.
“Steven, you are correct! Attention to detail like that is what must have brought you to this situation. I think you will find that you can climb up through that” he says pointing up above our heads. I follow his finger to the small window which is about half a meter above my head.
The window was only open a gap of about 50 centimetres and climbing through that would be quite a challenge. Is this the only reason why Greedo brought me along? Come to think of it I had spied Greedo and Wesley the weasel, hanging out a lot at university last semester. I never had thought of them as being friends at school because, lets face it, Greedo ‘homo’ Homes had no friends. Did he just use Wesley to climb in this window for grades? Had Wesley got cold feet and needed to be ‘taken care of’? Or even worse was I just a Weasel back up?
Again I had a choice ahead of me, either I bail now before I get in too deep or I keep going and climb through the window. Before I could decide, I began hurtling towards the window. Greedo had grabbed me firmly beneath the knees and thrust me upwards. My arms brace my upwards momentum against the window frame, stopping my head from crashing into it.
“Easy you tub of lard” I snap at Greedo below, as I regain my balance.
“Hurry up; you are not as light as you used to be in gym. Looks like those toasties aren’t as kind to your figure as they are to Katie’s.”
At school, I always thought that Greedo was the worst. However, seeing him tonight with this purpose and confidence, I am convinced that now he is the worst.
After about 30 seconds of wriggling I am finally able to squeeze my shoulders through the narrow opening. It is only once I squeeze my torso through the frame that I realise the desk below is still one meter below me. This dilemma is quickly solved by Greedo pushing me through with one last shove. I tumble forwards, sending a tower of papers and books crashing to the floor.
“Go round to the other side of the room and open the door, I’ll meet you there” Greedo instructs.
I reach into my pocket and thankfully my torch is still intact, I pull it out and start to stumble across through the cloud of newly disturbed dust and the piles of archaic artefacts which build up in your typical university storeroom. I flick the lock on the inside of the door and open it, just as Greedo lumbers up to it.
I turn around get my first look around the room; it has shelves of old books covering one half off the room. Every surface is covered by boxes filled with essays and lab reports that the university wanted to keep for their records. The carpet in our half of the room had been torn up and on the concrete floor was a dark red stain that looked like a small pool of blood.
“Don’t worry, it’s dry.” Greedo says following my gaze. He waddles over to the final corner of the room which contains a clean desk, with a brand new computer and a noticeboard above it.
“This is where we change history,” Greedo boasts, as he types in “NewtonBeta” as the username and then the password. The familiar sound of Bill Gates making millions rings across the room second later.
“What’s the magic word then?” I ask.
“Password!”
“Really? How many guesses did that take?”
Greedo answers by taping a sticky note above his head on the noticeboard. Sure enough there on the note it says “username: NewtonBeta, password: password.”
“I had the department head as a lecturer for ‘cognitive rational thinking: how to think like a pro’ last semester. For some reason he would always do his contact hours in here and that’s when I noticed sticky note. “He explains. “This shouldn’t take me too long, make yourself at home.”
I look through the nearest set of boxes to see if I can score any lecture notes that the university usually makes you fork out for.
“100% for you and me.”
I spy an old dilapidated box which looks like it has been there longer than I have been alive. The tests inside are handwritten and photocopied, but something about them is familiar.
“100% for the ravishing Miss Katie”
Then it hits me the questions are the same as the multiple choice test that I did a few weeks ago, unchanged since the 80’s. I look further into the box and there are essay and short answer questions. Even one titled “Research assignment for the extra 15%”. The class never changes.
“100% for the rubber man”
“It’s all here!” I exclaim to Greedo. “Everything we need to cruise through this unit, we won’t even need to come back again if we take these with us. I’ll gather all we need and see if I can dig up any other units, you finish up over there. Errr…actually maybe change Clark’s score to 90%, we don’t want to make it too obvious.”
Looking through the boxes in perfect order are all our subjects one after the other, like they had been waiting for us. I just found the last one of Kate’s subjects when Greedo walks over to me with his pudgy hand outstretched. I hand over a handful of the subjects, keeping mine held tightly in my hand.
Then a creaking sound starts from the dark corner of the room, hidden by shelves of books. A look of fear comes over Greedo’s face, like one of a first year wandering into the union building on student election week. He hurtles through a book case or two and into the dark corner, sending a pile of old microscopes flying.
Thud.
I raise my torch, looking into the corner and see Greedo pushing with all his force against the door. Even with all his weight, the door was still ajar; whoever was on the other side must have been strong to hold against him. Greedo turns his head and gestures for me to barricade the door with the largest bookcase.
“Who's in my room?”
It is the unmistakeably familiar sound of my lecturer from just this morning. If he sees me I am done for.
Do you barricade the door with Greedo or do you leave him, going back the way you came?
“I’ll come in,” Clark interjects.
You don’t always get to make a choice, I consciously think to myself.
“Callan, are there any other ways in?” I half-whisper, trying to sound as calm as he does in a conscious attempt to impress Katie.
“Nah, we only need to make sure that no one sees us climbing in or out,” he replies.
“Cover each corner and text Clark if there’s no one around. Make sure your phone’s on silent. We’ll text you again when we’re on our way down so you can make sure no one’s around. Shouldn’t be more than 15 minutes.”
Greedo had found a window in a lab on the ground floor that stayed unlocked all night. He said he remembered the latch was broken from a class he had there in first year. I couldn’t help but feel I’d never be able to make a mental connection like that if I needed to.
Katie & I wordlessly parted ways and walked to our respective corners. I’m a little taken aback by Clark’s decision; I know how much he hates Callan. Was he doing this to allow Katie and I time together? Despite his occasional tendency to cock-block, Clark was generally a pretty good guy.
I stick my head around the corner. No one. I knew from a bit of previous late-night revelry on South Lawn that Melbourne Uni has a bit of security floating around the grounds at night, but it was irregular and not super alert. I text Clark and watch the two silhouettes pry the window open and clamber in and out of sight.
I’m immediately flooded by a wave of self-consciousness as I realise that I’m alone with Katie. I see her walking back towards the window and walk toward her, self-consciously trying to ensure that my dark outline looked suave and relaxed.
Wordlessly we sit on the brick path, propped up against the wall under the window into which our two accomplices just disappeared. It’s dark but there’s still enough blue light to reveal Katie’s face and we exchange an awkward smile. It’s hard not to feel excited and afraid by the espionage we’re party to and I can see that in Katie’s beautiful brown eyes.
Immediately an awkward silence sets in. I don’t know what to say; how does anyone in this situation ever know what the fuck to say? How do you be interesting and cool and friendly yet be strong and attractive?
“How weird is this?” Katie asks, breaking the silence for me.
“Umm yeah haha,” I reply, forcing out a fake laugh, “this is not where I expected to be tonight. It’s very ‘Tomorrow When the War Began’,” I continue, the whole conversation being conducted in a whisper. “Did you ever read those books?’ I ask trying desperately to ensure the conversation continues. I know she must be thinking about my comment at lunch today and I’m just praying that she doesn’t bring it up.
“Yeah, I had to read the first one for school. I never bothered with the others,” She replied “… but I really enjoyed it,” she added, perhaps sensing my disappointment.
“In this situation tonight does that, like, make me Ellie haha?” she adds with a fake laugh of her own but hers is ditzy and coquettish.
“Sure,” I reply unenthusiastically. Perhaps Katie’s only unattractive trait is that she feels the need to play the ditz card sometimes. I assume it’s because it’s been successful for her in her first 20 years of life, which is hardly her fault, so I try my hardest to let it go.
Katie keeps talking: “Who were the enemy in those books anyway? In the movie they were Asian…” The word ‘enemy’ triggers something in my memory: “A surplus of distraction – of choice – is the enemy of efficiency.” My lecturer had said that today. How did he know my name? And he walked in JUST after I walked in – was he waiting for me? And those times he said what I’d just thought, what was that? On their own it could simply be coincidence but together…
Katie has begun casting the rest of us but I’m barely listening ‘…and I guess Callan is Chris, you can be Homer. I think Maddie would make a great Robyn…’. Did the lecturer get rid of the 15% lecture attendance to punish me? Does even considering that this could somehow be about me, one of hundreds in the class, make me the most egotistical idiot on earth?
‘Steven!’ That same call, distant & directionless rips me back to the present moment. “Were you even listening to me haha?” Katie asks, putting her hand on my leg, her laugh more friendly and genuine this time. I chide myself: alone with Katie, a situation I’d planned in my head numerous times, and I can only oscillate between being too nervous to speak and lost in my own thoughts & not listening.
“How do you think they’re going?” she asks.
“I’m sure they’re going fine. Callan’s done this a bunch of times”.
“I feel like he didn’t need the rest of us – if he wanted to change our grades he easily could have done it himself,” the conversation is coming easier now.
“Yeah, he just wants the friendship. I’m sorry I brought him to lunch, by the way, he saw me at the Grattan St lights after our lecture and didn’t let me say no.”
“Don’t be,” Katie says authoritatively and with a smile, “we wouldn’t be here otherwise”.
A whole new wave of panic comes over me – is she hitting on me? Or is she just referring to our potentially degree-ending subterfuge & espionage? Her hand is still on my leg and she’s looking at me with her head cocked against the bricks, eyes wide open and smiling. But she’s never shown any interest in me before, even though I feel like I’ve strongly hinted at my interest in the past.
“How long have they been gone?” Katie asks. I pull out my phone: “it’s been 12 minutes since I texted Clark”. Is she asking because she’s worried about Clark or is she asking because she wants me to kiss her before I run out of time?
“They should be down soon”, she leans in and whispers, simultaneously moving her hand up my leg.
I’m looking directly at her now, both of our heads against the bricks only centimetres apart. Ok, she clearly wants this. Surely. But then again, maybe not.
I hate that society places the onus on the guy to make the move in these situations. In this moment I’d happily give up the pay gap, take on the burden of childbirth and the hassle of menstruation, just so the onus is on Katie to lean in and open her mouth and not on me.
But we’re here staring at each other and if I don’t make a move soon the moment will pass. I remember my lecturer telling me about how brains have made decisions 3 seconds before the subjects make them so I begin to countdown in my head: 3…2…1… and I lean in to kiss her…
…And amazingly she doesn’t pull away! After nervously kissing a couple of times our tongues meet and the hand on my leg grabs harder. I can’t believe it! I can’t fucking believe it! We’re actually making out! I move my outside hand onto her hips and after lingering for a few moments I move my hand under her black tank top and slide it up her waist.
Momentarily I reflect on what a weird, weird day I’ve had: I’ve gone from snooze-button contemplator to hammock-owner, espionage hero and ladies man – I’ll definitely think twice before hitting that snooze button from now on. Feeling encouraged by my swelling sense of achievement for the day I slide my hand up onto Katie’s bra. She responds by moving her hand from my leg to under my t-shirt – this seems like a good sign.
I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket. I assume it must be Clark and keep kissing Katie; I can afford another 30 seconds, maybe 2 minutes.
It vibrates again at a familiar interval. Fuck. A phone call. My mood instantly changes.
Has something gone wrong? I guess there’s a small chance that it’s someone other than Clark but that seems unlikely. Now that I’ve finally kissed Katie and I’ve got my hand under her top I hardly want to stop but if something bad happens then maybe I’ll never get another opportunity.
Should I answer it or ignore it?
And so I walk.
Out into the corridor, out amongst the gathering throng of pre and post-lecture students, all chattering wildly, all seeming so much younger and more enthusiastic than I.
Outside the thick sunlight tears at my eyes and face. We’re meeting at a café back near the train station. It had made sense when we’d planned it, drunk and disorderly at Katie’s house on Sunday night, but I realise now that I can’t possibly make it on time. I must have forgotten about class, or more likely assumed that I’d simply choose to skip it. Exactly why I hadn’t was becoming less and less clear.
Walking through uni unaccompanied is its own special kind of isolation. There is so much activity, so much noise and colour, and yet I snake through it all without a sideways glance. It’s the same reason I hate shopping malls: there is simply too much going on without me. A surplus of distraction – of choice – is the enemy of efficiency.
I swear in silence at the thought of Katie and Clark. I’ve always liked Katie, and I think Clark knows it, and so every moment they spend alone together is another over which I have no control. I trust Clark – he is, after all, my oldest friend – but when it comes to inadvertent cock-blocking of erectile proportions he has a very questionable track record. Best I move quickly.
After some expert people-dodging I find myself at the back of a long line of fellow pedestrians all waiting to cross Grattan Street. We’re like unwanted puppets left to dangle limply with bags slung on shoulders and heads angled down. We each look the same and yet I feel so disconnected to all of them. It’s as though they’re somehow all in on a joke at my expense, as though this whole morning was pre-planned.
The tram thunders past and I make eye contact with the sole puppet on board. Am I mistaken, or did he just give me a nod?
Fucking Myki.
The dull clicking of the traffic lights returns to occupy my thoughts as the tram moves away. In between clicks I can just make out the fuzzy base of a pop song whispering out of a pair of headphones next to me. A not-unattractive Asian girl is listening to the music, and the slight bobbing of her head is the only sign that she is alive.
“Steven!”
It comes out of nowhere, a call from the Almighty – directionless and immediately gone – and it takes me a few uncomfortable moments to locate its source. I turn around, and there he is, calling out again, so unlike the rest of us, and I am more certain than ever that I should have skipped this morning’s class.
Meet Callan Holmes, aka “Greedo”, a specimen of humanity’s most undesirable characteristics. I honestly thought he was dead.
We called him Greedo at school (my proudest legacy); a combination of traits, one seen and one suspected. We saw the greed in his tuckshop raids, a real-life Augustus Gloop one chocolate river short of heart failure. The paedophile we imagined, or perhaps assumed, a fitting future for one so failed by genetics. It was nasty, yes, and I’d regretted it in recent years, but standing here now I remember why the name had stuck.
I’m caught between two men: one tiny, red, and stationary, the other huge, pale, and lumbering, emerging now from the shadow of the Science Building like some corpulent comic-book villain. Greedo, the fat fuck. God, how I loathe thee!
“Steven!”
He’s collapsing in on himself, rising and falling like a wave and yet somehow remaining, unbroken, on his feet. He calls my name again, a desperate howl that seems to snap the fingers of our grand puppeteer into action, drawing the eyes of a hundred onlookers, all tracing now to me, the clear target of Greedo’s uninvited attention. It’s embarrassment by association, and there’s no escape.
He reaches me at last, just as the lights change, and as the horde moves on I realise with slight panic that I myself cannot; Greedo is clasping my shoulder for support, wheezing pathetically like a lung-cancer patient, and his strength has me rooted to the spot. He drops his bag, looks at me, and smiles.
“S…Ste…Steven…”
It’s a half cough, half greeting, but enough to confirm my resurfaced hatred. First there’s the smell, emanating from deep in his great gut, climbing his throat, escaping between those rotten teeth and poisoning the cool noon air. He’s revolting and rude, invading the space between us, cancelling light like Satan in the Genesis of Hell.
And it’s that face too, laced in dripping sweat, cheeks inhabited by clans of throbbing boils that seem tempted to erupt with each passing second he stares. I try desperately to picture the hammock and that most fortunate of men, but in vain – all I can see is Greedo, a creature as alien as the Star Wars character with whom he shares his name.
“Great class, eh Steven?!”
The repeated name – that classic attempt to bridge separate histories – only works to intensify my disgust. I have only myself to blame. Choices, the theme of the day – of each day really – circling around to spit, just like Greedo himself, right in my face. I should have stayed in bed.
“I suppose…” It’s all I can bring myself to say.
“It’s all so interesting,” he responds. “I never knew you were a braniac.” And he gives an involuntary snort, as if to reassert for us both the memory of high school – a better time – when I sat in peace at the back of the classroom, breathing clean air.
“Um, yeah. Whatever…”
We’re moving at last, and with each laboured step he takes I manage to create a slight gap between us. It’s imperative that this is only a short exchange.
But he grabs my arm again and almost drags himself to the opposite footpath. “Wait…” he manages, and leans against the wall of the Grattan Street KFC. “Just give me a second…”
I glance down at my broken watch. Greedo’s personal musk mingles with wafts of fried chicken – simultaneously pleasant and revolting – and the combination makes me feel sick. I picture that hammock again.
“Sorry, Gre- I mean…sorry Callan. I’ve got to go. I’m meeting some people for lunch.”
He raises himself up, given strength by the promise of that final word. The Colonel looks over us with a wink and a smile. In every way Greedo has the upper hand.
“May I…do you think I could come?”
In the sudden purity of a gust of wind I find myself recalling that morning’s lecture. Choice, free will, cause and effect – questions of a life worth living or futile misinterpretations of what is really preordained? All I know is this: I want, more than anything else I can ever remember wanting, to tell Greedo to get fucked.
“Look…Callan…” But I can’t. “Mate…”
“Please?” Greedo wipes a layer of dirty sweat from his brown. Other beads fall like tears down his fat cheeks. “I’m all alone.”
He clears his throat – and that, it appears, is that.
The transition is immediate and deflating; Katie turns, smiling at first, lifting a hand to wave, and then drops it quickly, her face strikingly confused. Clark looks almost worried, his eyebrows raised at first and now narrowed. I imagine it’s how I must have looked when I saw with soul-crushing disappointment Greedo running towards me at the lights. If only the professor had taught us how to communicate via telekinesis – I’d be apologising to my friends even as I brought this curse upon them. Being twenty minutes late seems trivial in comparison to this evil.
“Hey guys, sorry I’m late.” I’m doing my best to be calm and casual but my voice sounds too high-pitched. “You guys remember Callan?”
It’s a statement, really. No one forgets Greedo.
Neither Kate nor Clark seems tuned to my adlibbed frequency. I had hoped for any kind of greeting, a nod of recollection, a handshake, but they are frustratingly unmoved. This is a problem I must solve by myself.
Greedo appears immune to the persistence of his legacy. He wears a giant grin and sits between Katie and me. She leans away without subtlety. Nobody liked him at school, and he knew it, and stayed away, but for some reason now he seems to be under the impression that we have all moved on.
“So…” I offer, fishing for an interjection. None arrives, however, and the word simply vanishes into the embarrassing silence.
This silence lingers for a minute or two, during which Greedo proceeds to gulp down three glasses of water, revealing with each raise of his elbow an enormous dark patch of perspiration beneath his armpit.
Finally, Clark speaks. “So, Greedo. How are you?”
There is an irony here that goes unrecognised by the object of the question. Clark has not bothered to hide his true feelings with Greedo’s real name, and yet in talking to him he has willingly acknowledged the latter’s presence and thus voided my sole responsibility over the direction of the conversation from now on. I feel like Frankenstein unleashing his monster on the world.
“Good,” says Greedo. “Steven invited me to lunch.”
Katie gives me a cold look. She has giant, dark eyes that I have memorised to the last detail, and I feel ashamed and upset that she’s using them like this on me now.
“We’re in the same class,” I say. It’s an attempt at some sort of explanation, an excuse for what I have done, but even as the words leave my mouth I recognise how feeble they will sound. There is no defence for a decision as poor as this.
“What class?” Kate is looking at Greedo now. It’s a calamitous intersection of beauty and ugliness. Neither should be exposed to something so alien.
Unsurprisingly, Greedo is keen to answer her, and slowly the dialogue evolves. I lean back like an artist critiquing his work. Perhaps this won’t be so bad after all. If nothing else we have uni in common, and that is enough to sustain us through chicken toasties and coffee, and in my head I’m already planning my expert clean-up of the situation after Greedo has left. There will be plenty of lunches on other days, plenty of times to sit next to Katie and talk about something else.
“Steven?” It’s that voice again, calling me like it did before, from just as far away. This time, however, it’s in a completely different tone – softer and almost friendly – and as I return to the moment I see Greedo smiling at me. “Well,” he says. “What do you think?”
“About what?”
“Cheating,” says Katie. “Together.”
I glance at Clark. Cheating? What exactly had I missed? I’d fantasised all year about a relationship with Katie – had I mastered telekinesis after all?
“Um…” I’m careering through my own thoughts, scratching for any semblance of context.
Katie is enthusiastic, eager for an answer. “Do you want to?”
Or am I dreaming now, back home in that rich bastard’s hammock? Was this all some kind of sordid nightmare? Had I slept through class after all?
Greedo punches me in the arm. This is no dream.
“Okay,” I say, with no idea to what it is I’m agreeing. “But…Katie…do you mean you have a boyfriend?”
The response is brutal in its shock. Clark bursts out laughing, slamming his palm against the table. Greedo snorts, dribbling a marble of snot onto his shirt, which only makes Clark laugh harder. And Katie just stares, those incredible eyes wider than I’d ever thought possible.
“What are you talking about?” she exclaims. “Boyfriend?”
I can feel my face growing red. There is a sudden emptiness in my brain. I literally have no idea what is going on.
“You’re a fucking idiot, mate!” says Clark, still slamming the table. “Oh, man…”
Greedo leans in to whisper in my ear. “The other cheating,” he says, and then reaches into his pocket for his wallet as the waiter comes to clear away out plates.
Night-time. Thin clouds hover in front of the near-full moon. It’s a starless city sky, deep purple and pocked with orange streetlamps. There is no breeze, but I am bitterly cold.
It is the strangest team to which I have ever belonged: Katie, Clark, and Greedo. They appear now like shadows, dressed dark as the night, like I am, head to toe. So this is what it feels like to cheat.
Greedo, it turns out, has been breaking into the Science Faculty every fortnight for the entire semester, to alter his grades. He saw me this morning arriving late to class, fumbling for a seat in my Myki-fuelled rage. He took pity on me. He wanted to help.
I’d spent the evening thinking that it really should be the other way around. I’d bullied Greedo for six long years, looked down at him like he carried some disease. I’d told people he was a paedophile, for Christ’s sake!
“Ready?” he says, handing me a torch.
Clark is chuckling, probably nerves. We were troublemakers, maybe, but we’d never done anything like this.
“Clark!”
It’s Katie, and although I can’t see her face, covered as it is by a balaclava, I can tell by her tone that she’s in no mood for jokes.
“Sorry,” says Clark, but there’s still the tinge of laughter in his voice.
I can guess what he’s laughing at too, and I am immediately grateful of the protection of the darkness of night. I had agreed, pointlessly it had turned out, to a pretend-unfaithful relationship with the girl of my dreams. This fact cannot have escaped her.
“Quiet,” whispers Greedo. He sounds confident, controlled, and any doubt that I had about his true intentions is subdued as I await instruction.
Huddled behind a rubbish bin, swamped by bushes, heads bowed together, we are, in this moment, on edge. The edge of a knife, or a cliff, or of time itself, and I can’t help but look back at my day. I’d gone home after lunch, bought a hammock, spent an hour lying in it thinking over what we were about to do. It’s not as comfortable as it looks.
“Alright,” says Greedo. “This is the plan.”
I still can’t believe we’re doing this.
Had Greedo wanted to sleep in this morning, too? Had he lay in bed, staring at his own poster, finger hovering over the snooze button, daring himself to press it?
He’d asked us to cheat, and we’d all agreed, and now here we were, on this edge, and he’d got it all planned out. Four students with scores to settle, or at least to make up, and it was to be as simple as following orders. No choices necessary, it seemed.
“I’ll go in,” he says. “I know this building back to front. That means we’ll need two people out here to keep guard. Katie, you’re a cool head. You stay.” She nods in assent. “I just need one person to come with me.”
Even through the balaclava I can smell his breath, but it’s mixed this time with anticipation, the thrill of the unknown.
I want to impress Katie, to show her how daring I can be. I should go with Greedo. He chose me, today, after all.
But what if we get caught? Guard duty is the safer option. And I’d get to spend time with Katie, just the two of us, talking…
The sound of distant traffic blurs into nothingness as the bushes brush against my hand and Greedo speaks again.
“Steven, what’s it going to be?”
So do I keep watch with Katie or break into the Science Faculty building with Greedo?
I stopped outside the door and checked my mobile phone. Three missed calls - two from Katie and one from Clark. I was already late.
I felt as if the dust were to settle from my previous bout of embarrassment, I may never take the tram again. Besides, after a day like today in which I received a sufficient amount of shame to make sleep very troublesome tonight I was due some good luck. It was only a few stops.
I kept trying to rationalise my decision to myself as I set a brisk pace to the nearest stop. A tram was pulling up as I arrived and I did my best to blend in with the crowd shuffling on to the PTV can.
I feebly waved my Myki near the reader to give the impression that I’d touched on, hoping nobody would notice. It was noisy, it’d be fine. I spotted a seat and made a beeline for it.
“Mate, it didn’t beep”.
“Excuse me?”
“You weren’t close enough, you have to do it again”.
I thought back to the poster of the man in the hammock - he’d never have to deal with this crap.
“Oh, no, it turned green. Don’t worry”.
He cocked an eyebrow at me and gave a wry little smile.
“Whatever you say mate”.
This guy was my age and wearing a suit on a weekday. I'm not sure we'd ever be mates. I broke eye contact as quickly as I could and sat down, resting my legs awkwardly on my bag. Tinkly muzak began to emenate from my phone within, no doubt Katie trying to reach me again. It was feasible I was stuck in class. Or it would be if they’d known me for less than ten minutes.
My hands rummaged around until I found the phone and I swiped across.
“Hey Katie”.
“It’s Clark”.
“Oh right, hey mate”.
“Where are you? You know the lunch specials end soon and there’s no way I’m paying for bloody rice”.
“I won’t be long”.
“Coming from you, that could mean anything”.
“Ten minutes tops”.
“Rightio. They’re out of dosas”.
“See you in a tick”.
It was probably about time I changed my ringtone, but there was nothing wrong with it, really. It was mine, it worked, it was effective. But it was probably also reflective of laziness. I felt like I should care more about it. I felt like I should care more about a lot of things.
One thing I did care about was the odd incident with the professor in class. I spent most of the time in there thinking of a way I could ask “how did you know my name?” without coming off as someone in desperate need of psychiatric help. Of course I didn’t think of anything appropriate and a multitude of possibilities ran through my head.
Did he notice me slacking off? Probably, but there’s 50 other people who are as bad or worse in the same group. I briefly considered that we might have a Good Will Hunting moment, that I was some kind of untapped genius. I liked that idea. It was also the furthest thing from the truth.
“It’s the best time of the year in this city”.
I didn’t look particularly distinctive. I often thought that my hobbies made me distinctive, but they were merely possible means to more hammocky ends. Find me a university student who doesn’t have a keyboard he plays in a band that hasn’t released any music. Or who has dreams of writing that one brilliant play, or novel, or whatever. Or who wants to make the next ‘big thing’ app.
“You only have a short time to enjoy it. It’s always too cold or hot. Candela or freezer. But right now it’s perfect”.
What about an app that helps you make apps? An app to organise your tech startup? I mean, it wasn’t brilliant, but I could be a facilitator. Helping others make the big app could help me make my idyllic island paradise a reality.
“Bon salud”.
I didn’t even notice the man had sat down next to me. He took a long draw from a can of coke and exhaled with great satisfaction. He had dark, leathery skin and a salt and pepper beard.
“Excuse me?”.
“When the weather was like this in older generations, it was the perfect time to harvest the bamboo. Or at least that’s how the story goes”.
The day had already been too long to have to politely smile at the ramblings of a crazy person. I’m all for being friendly but I really just wanted time to think.
“The bamboo was sent to America. They had a game called Waltes that they used the bamboo for, they learned it from the natives. You had one old man, three old women and 51 pieces of wood to play with. And un tiki burl. A little one. For the board”.
I had to admit that this was one of the more odd ramblings I’d heard from the type of person who speaks to complete strangers on the tram.
“There was a hole in the burl so the dice could jump. There were six dice. Two people sat opposite each other and the dice sat inside. They picked up the bowl and bang, slammed it down so the dice jumped”.
He punched his fists together as he said this.
“These dice only had two sides. You would try to get the dice to all, disculpami, all but one to jump on the same side and you would take sticks depending on the side that came up. When you had a bundle of seventeen, you took one out and made a point. Five points wins the game”.
My stop was coming up. I smiled at the man and grabbed my bag.
“That sounds like a really, really great game. I’ve never heard of it. This is my stop coming up”.
I stood up.
“Tickets please”.
My heart skipped a beat. My phone didn’t as it jingled away in my bag again. More large men in grey surrounded by similar looking rent-a-thugs. They were coming my way. The older man smiled at me.
“The problem with the game is that if someone is losing, they can keep adding sticks and changing the count. It was...bad sportsmanship, but they did it. You can play forever”.
I looked at him with panic in my eyes. I wished he would shut up.
“That’s all well and good, but I could do with some bad sportsmanship right now. You’re talking about a game of chance which is something I understand all too well. As you can probably tell, luck isn’t on my side today”.
He smiled and drank from his can of coke again.
“Depending on who you ask it could be a game of choice. The best way is to choose not to play. Unless you have trust”.
The inspector stepped up to me.
“MyKi please”.
I looked around desperately. The man smiled again.
“I, uh, here, I’m not sure if the machine was worki -”
“It was working. MyKi please”.
$219 bloody dollars because Clark didn’t want to pay for rice. I could have bought a lot of rice for that. I don’t even like rice. I handed the card over.
“Thank you. Have a good day”.
He walked back to the other end of the tram, chuckling as he told the other inspectors about my nerves.
The man smiled again. I turned my MyKi over in confusion as he drained the remainder of his coke.
“Maybe it is a game of chance”.
The sun bathed the tram in odd, fractured light as it pulled up to the stop outside Gujarati. I saw Katie and Clark laughing with their phones on the table.
As I went to get off, everything felt a bit surreal. The MyKi was surely a system failure - god knows they have enough of them. But I was torn. As crazy as it was, I felt like I had to ask the old man a few questions. They were out of dosas anyways.
But I also didn’t want to deal with that uniquely shameful guilt from flaking on your friends. I didn’t think “I wanted to talk to this old dude on the tram about his bamboo dice game” would cut it.
Do I stay on the tram or go and have lunch?
Today’s choices are tomorrow’s destinations. Choose wisely
Every morning I look at that poster in an attempt to get motivated enough to leave my bed, after all it shows a successful guy lying in a hammock. But what that man doesn’t understand is just how comfortable my bed is, and exactly how tempting a warm cocoon of blankets can be. So now I have to make my first choice of the day, whether or not to go to my 9am lecture. If I go into uni I can get good grades, become wildly successful, seduce hundreds of women with my infinite wealth, and ultimately collapse into a post orgy mini-coma in the hammock on my privately owned island. Or I can hit the snooze button and follow my dreams in a much more pragmatic way. After all, the guy in the hammock appears to be sleeping, so in a lot of ways we’re on the same page. I guess that means I’m skipping the lecture. But then again the professor takes attendance and I’ve already missed two classes. I am allowed three skips though, so it wouldn’t be the end of the world if I slept through this one. Plus at this rate I might miss my train, and I certainly don’t want to walk into class late enough that everyone stares. Two hundred sets of eyes glaring at me as I shimmy through the tiny gap between knees and chairs, occasionally forcing the awkward laptop removal and desk lift: absolutely not. Although, I did do the readings this week for the first time ever, and I’m sure as hell not letting that go to waste. That means I’m going to the lecture, and most likely securing my future as a hammock owner.
First I need to get dressed, luckily my pants and shirt are already in a lump by my bed. Even luckier, my belt is already inside my pants. Luckier still, I fell asleep wearing socks. People have always said that I’m lazy, disorganised and unable to finish what I start, but that couldn’t be further from the truth, it’s just how I express my creativity. That’s why I’m already half way through the storyboarding for a movie I’m writing. And have an incomplete watercolour painting hanging off a makeshift easel in the bathroom. And a semi-finished computer rebuild from scrap parts I found at a garage sale. So, maybe I can be a little all over the place, and don’t have the best follow-through, but I still see big things in my future; hammock on my own beach type of things. But first I’ll need to run to the train.
Thankfully the train is on time and I make it with a couple of seconds to spare. It was an athletic endeavour, albeit it slightly hampered by the borderline asthmatic seizure I experienced immediately after the doors closed. By the time I’m pulling into Melbourne Central station I have sweat seeping out of my pores and, strangely enough, only the one armpit. My body has mostly recovered by the time I get through the gates, and now I have my next decision. I only have enough money on my Myki to get me into Uni, so if I don’t top up now I’ll have to walk back to the station after class. Or I could fare evade, but from past experience I only get inspected when I don’t have a valid Myki. Yet I have friends who will go months without ever putting money on their cards and somehow never get caught. It doesn’t make much sense, but I really would be a lot happier if all of them got fines. It’s vindictive and not what a friend should say, but it is probably a perfectly human desire. Either way I need to top up my Myki now, and hopefully quick enough to make the tram so I can scrape into the lecture on time. But as I stand in line at the machine I see the bringer of doom in front of me, an old woman using a credit card. It’s going to be a miracle if I can get to the tram on time with the glacial pace of the MyKi machines, especially when they use cards. I hate watching her stare aimless at the screen as if it is communicating to her in her native language of Morse code. The lady looks stunned as she investigates the machine, searching for the mystical card port that is literally right in front of her. She looks around expectantly as if the MyKi butler is about to come and assist her through the process. Oh no, she’s pulling out her chequebook. There’s no way this is going to take any less than an hour, and I need to go, so I sprint for the tram and make it as the door shut.
After another embarrassing hyperventilating episode I take my seat. But not for long because I don’t have the stomach to stay seated when other people stand. I always feel their eyes judging me as I sit in my comfortable seat whilst they sway from side to side at the mercy of the tram. Although, there’s a chance they will be more understanding after the display of anaerobic weakness they just witnessed. I pull the MyKi out of my pocket but manage to catch myself just before I touch on. I’m still valid for another two hours from the train, but if I touch on I’ll get declined because I’m technically in the negative. I’m not sure if that would actually make my ticket invalid, but I don’t want to take the risk.
“Would you like a hand with that?” An older lady suggests as she goes to take the card from my hand and tap it to the machine. She’s only trying to be nice, and is assuming I just can’t reach it myself, but nonetheless I have to pull my card away from her hand.
“Sorry,” I spurt out to ease her look of insult. “It’s just bec- No you see the MyKi system, because I’m in negative. I’m valid though. I am, I swear. I touched on at the station. So I’m allowed on for two hours”
“I understand,” interjects the lady with a mix of confusion and offense. “Nobody needs help from an oldie like me”.
“No it’s not that,” I shout, “It’s just this stupid card system. Even though I’ve paid, and I’m allowed to be on the tram, and not one of the ‘evil fare evaders’ they talk about in all the ads, I’m still screwed because of an idiotic system”.
“Oh I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to …” Interjected the lady trying to stop my yelling but I’m already to invested in my rant.
“No No. Don’t be sorry, it’s not your fault. It’s the idiots who made the systems fault. And anybody who has anything to do with them. The ticket inspectors are the worst of all. Too stupid to even understand the purpose of why they are inspecting. They will just scan my card and see it is declined on the top up, and give me a fine. But if they had any intelligence they would understand how the system works, and that the purpose is to see if I have actually paid for my two hours, which I have! But no, they would be far too stupid-“
“MyKi please,” booms the upset male voice behind me. I immediately come to the conclusion that it can’t actually be ticket inspector. Obviously someone is playing a joke on me, I can’t be that unlucky. But as I turn around I realise I am in fact exactly that unlucky, and my rant deflates like a loosened balloon flailing uselessly around the room.
“Look, Im sorry I –“
“Myki please.”
I hand it over to the intimidating man of grey, who is backed by his equally large cronies covering the exits. A feel a look of disbelief spreads across my face as it dawns on me that I am about to receive a $219 fine entirely due to a foolish system. The tram is even more silent that usual as everyone waits for me, the rude man who yells in public spaces, to get my comeuppance.
“It says here that you’re at negative seventy-seven cents,” says the inspector as I let out an obvious sigh coupled with an eye roll. “But. Since it says you touched on at 8:38 this morning, you are valid all the way through to eleven a.m. You see, the system works on the traveller being within the valid time window, not the positive or negative balance. But then again, how would I know anything about the system that I enforce for a job.”
Everyone on the tram is dead silent, too nervous to be the first to laugh, but still using their eyes to put me through the most humiliating moment of my life. I take my Myki back from the rigid grip of the inspector and consider the possibility of making an apology. I am one hundred percent in the wrong, but I’m not sure commenting on it will make the situation any less awkward.
“Look, I’m-“
“Ticket please,” the inspector blurts out just in time to interrupt me as he moves onto the next person. The university stop is coming up, so I’m able to skip out of this terrible situation just in time. Half the tram comes off with me and I silently hope to God that none of them are in my class. I slip in through the back doors of my lecture just in time to see that the professor arriving.
“Hello everyone, slight bit of housekeeping to start with. It’s taking too long to go through attendance every class so I think from now on we’ll just scrap it.”
There is a collective cheer from the entire lecture hall, but instead I groan as I realise I could be in bed right now.
“I’ll find another way to make up the 15 percent throughout the semester.”
There is a second collective groan, this time louder than the first. Not from me though, I’m happy to do an additional assignment as long as it means I can skip morning lectures. The professor has a way of making anything boring, and with a subject like neuropsychology there isn’t much effort required. It’s an elective subject that I knew would be hard, but during an overly optimistic 3am online enrolment I decided it would be interesting. I thought it might help with me improve my brain skills and in turn help with my computer building, play writing, word jumbles and even the tech start up I have been thinking about.
“The brain is most effective when focusing on one task. By paying attention to one objective we draw the stimuli into our frontal lobe for processing. Therefore multitasking, despite what you may believe, is less effective than dedicating mental processing to one full time objective.”
The lecturer is recapping his previous lecture for those who missed last week, but somehow I feel it is aimed more at my own personal choices.
“For today’s lecture we are going to discuss how the brain makes choices.”
Well this is spooky.
“Subjects were given two options, left and right, and told to click at the instant they felt they have made their choice. Interestingly, the readings showed activity in the subconscious elements of the brain, areas outside of the frontal lobe, gearing up for the decisions up to three seconds before the subject clicked their mouse. Thus leading to the contention that the conscious mind, your conscious mind, is not responsible for the decisions you make. Thus giving you the illusion of free will, when in reality you are been dragged through your life with an inability to decide your own destiny.”
The room immediately starts typing away, but I’m just stuck thinking how incredibly depressing that speech was.
“But that’s somewhat depressing.”
Jesus, this guy might be psychic.
“I think a more optimistic interpretation is that these were low attention decisions that don’t require involving your frontal lobe, your conscious, thus your brain delegates the processing to your subconscious. Even the most basic creatures have it, and it determines when we should be afraid, when we should fight and if something is safe to eat; all without having bringing the process into our conscious brain. This is how creatures are able to survive without a frontal lobe, and can still experience a range of emotions and decision-making abilities without cognitive processing. This topic, and the remainder of the lecture, delves deep into the evolutionary purposes of the brain, however we will not cover much of the psychology, and as such this lecture is not examinable.”
I grab my laptop, still in the bag, and start to step over the last row of chairs while the lecturer is still fiddling with his computer. I’m not wasting my whole morning in a class when the material won’t even be on the exam.
“However, we will be having an in class exercise worth 5% at the end of the class. So you may want to sit down Steven.”
The entire class turns to look at me standing here like an idiot, up on my tiptoes straddling the back row of chairs. I notice a group of girls laughing hysterically and realize they were on this morning’s tram with me. In an attempt to deflect some of the embarrassment I give a sheepish shrug before sitting down again. The class resumes after a few more minutes of laughter, and all I can think is, how the hell does the lecturer know my name? There are two hundred of us in the class and I have never spoken to him, but I guess I have the next three hours to figure it out…
Now that the class is finished I don’t waste anytime getting to the door. I’m already running late if I want to make it to lunch with Katie and Clark. They always hate when I’m not on time, and I can’t stand another lecture. The problem is that I didn’t have time to top up my MyKi so if I take the tram I risk getting a fine.
So, do I take the tram or walk?
