So new year's eve started auspiciously at the #Aloha. Last night there were some new year's eve eve festivities which descended into shrieking abuse, but that's pretty much par for the course.
Breaking Bad was going round this morning apologising for the noise. Breaking Bad, a youngish man with a shaved head and brand names across all his clothing, moved in a few months ago and is obviously a drug dealer. He spends most of his time sitting outside his flat, smoking and frowning at the ground between his feet. Young men with backwards baseball caps and ridiculously large, brightly-coloured trainers regularly pop by to see him. (Accented words like "cliché" have not yet made it this far north of Sydney.)
This evening I get home from work to the sound of more shrieking abuse coming from the pool area out back. Knowing better than to investigate, I get up to my flat and lock the screen door. From my window I was surprised to see it wasn't any of my neighbours, but a young woman going berserk, smashing up plant pots, and screaming at someone in the house over the back Colorbond fence.
Long story short, I witnessed my first Aloha drugs bust. By which I mean the young woman, who it turned out was carrying some ice, temazepam, and a stolen wallet, was quickly surrounded by more police than I've seen in one place since my days as a moderate radical and protest-goer. Breaking Bad, who turned up halfway through proceedings, and attracted renewed shrieking from the woman, received some polite questioning.
The woman, being indigenous, was bundled into a van, unlike Breaking Bad — who is merely walking around surrounded by big neon arrows labelled "drug dealer" pointing at him. Another case wrapped up, thanks to predictive policing.
New year's eve is young. Roll on #2021, the year I get out of this godawful town.