Roaches and records

roachy-1-diplodopest

Note: A lot of blogs I’ve read open with a cheery welcome post. Through no fault of its own this one doesn’t, but it picks up. 

It was an unbearably warm Saturday evening spent alone in a roach infested two-bedroom flat in Perth’s southern suburbs. The apartment – my apartment – had helped me back on my feet, but a lot had changed during my time there and things felt really stale.

The recent changes – a relationship breakdown, a loss of interest in my only hobby and the cancellation of my plans for the evening – added up to feel heavier than the sum of their parts, and as such, things were pretty flat.

I was moving in a few weeks time and most my stuff was packed, but instead of making new plans that evening I sat among the roaches and the boxes and tried to keep the roaches out of the boxes and honestly felt really sorry for myself. It wasn’t a great night.

Pretty much the only thing I hadn’t packed was my record player, and having spontaneously picked up a copy earlier in the day that was when I first listened to Mac DeMarco’s Another One.

I like DeMarco’s work, but I’m no fanatic by any stretch. That said, there was a moment on Another One which particularly stood out. It wasn’t even a song. At the mini-LP’s conclusion the Canadian crooner, now residing in some weird part of New York, blurted out his address and invited the listener around for a cup of coffee.

Normally an invite to anyone who cared wouldn’t elicit a second thought, but in these circumstances it did. I’d never had any motivation to travel to New York before so I slept on the idea, but within a week I’d booked my flights to JFK – initially in September by accident but eventually in October like I’d intended. And so began a plan to travel several thousand miles from the world’s most isolated city to one of its most populous and drink a cup of coffee with a complete stranger.

I’ve read that people have made the trip before, but I’ve not heard of anyone going from Perth to do so. Provided he’s home I guess I’ll know for sure in a few months’ time.

Author: Jack

24 years old. Journalist by profession, but my views are mine.

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