Footscray

Footscray is a strange and confronting place. The train from my house to the city is incredibly well mannered. Carriages are free from society's lower reaches, and everything moves along harmoniously and rather boringly as the train makes its twelve minute journey into the city. The train out to Footscray, however, could not be more different. Nor more interesting. Old ladies sit rolling joints, groups of glazed-eyed teenagers suck paint fumes from a silver streaked plastic bag, couples with prams have fights, and strange people strike up conversations with you.

This morning on the train, the highlight was the spectacular wig worn by the old Italian man with his Asian wife. It sat up in the air, combed and coiffed, and at the nape of his neck there was at least two centimetres of space between the mullet strands and his neck. It was a dark blonde colour, without a streak of grey, and shimmering in the light through the train window. They got on with me at Spencer Street station, and alighted one station before me at South Kensington. I do not know where they were going, or what they were doing, but I hope the wig made the day all the more special for them.

On my way to work I felt I needed some caffeine. I never drink caffeine, and I really do mean never, but lately I've been finding sleeping very difficult, and waking up even harder. I've had to contend with strange lucid dreams, too. This morning I was a police investigator, trying to solve some kind of case involving a party at a very rich family's home. My weapon was a Pump water bottle, and when I brandished it at the gun toting socialites they snickered. I told them it was a gun, and that they'd better watch out, but then accidentally squeezed it and some water shot out. Completely blowing my cover. The night before it was a little more disturbing, and to do with alternative forms of feminine hygiene products, but I'll spare you those details.

So in pursuit of coffee I chose the place with the classiest signage. This place was Naken Japan, in Footscray mall. Strangely enough, the only thing Japanese about Naked Japan is the plastic water lillies in bowls of stones on each table. It is not even owned or run by Japanese people, nor does it serve food - let alone Japanese food. From what I can tell, it is owned by African immigrants, and African immigrants are their main regular customers.

My coffee from Naked Japan was average, due to inferior quality soy milk, so I will have to continue exploring the streets of Footscray. I'm thinking for my next coffee I will try the hospital cafeteria styled place next door called Café D'Afrique. Perhaps in spending less money on fancy signage they have more money for good coffee. I'm also intrigued by the selection of food in the bain marie, and would like to try African without having to sit by myself in one of the restaurants. I've somewhat explored the Vietnamese part of Footscray, including the best place to buy moon cakes, so now I think I should try the other dominant culture's culinary offerings.

I will give you my review of Café D'Afrique tomorrow.