The Null Device
I caught a train to Flinders St. yesterday evening. Sitting across the aisle from me on the train was a pudgy teenager attired in hip-hop thugwear (Fubu sneakers, a Slim Shady athletic shirt, and the obligatory baseball cap). In one hand he had a can of spray paint, which could be considered fairly typical. In the other, however, he had a translucent plastic bag, the insides of which were spray-painted gold. This he would put to his mouth from time to time and suck on it. As the train approached Flinders St., and the electronic voice on the PA announced this for the second time. Chromeboy rasped in a cracked, high-pitched voice, like a chain-smoking castrato: "yeah, yeah, shut da fuck up."
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