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As expected, Thursday morning came 'round without a hitch. I dabbed the residue of a good night's sleep out of a crease near my eye. Yech.
The room soon filled with sunshine. My head filled with consciousness. Eventually, my pants filled with the need to piss.
As I stood in front of the ever-thirsty toilet, I inhaled the crisp Gold Coast mornin' air through the discreet bathroom window, knowing in my heart that it was going to be a good day, or at least a mediocre one.
"Aahhh..." I said, swiftly filling my nostrils with the as-yet untainted atmosphere.
Then, just as swiftly, I tainted it.

Thursday had come already, and I only had two nights left in my homo away from home. I couldn't wait to get back. To get back to my own bed, my own fridge, my own toilet, all that stuff. I thought I'd make the most of my time and money whilst there, so I went to a lovely little Turkish café for a breakfast.
As I was hopping down to the Akbar Ahab for a few kebabs, I was met with a lovely surprise: sitting crosslegged at a table was my old war buddy, Daniel Dann, with his friend Danny.
"Fuckwit!" he yelled at me whilst simultaneously giving me the finger.
Needless to say, I was turkish delighted.
I sat down with Daniel and Danny, ordered myself three traditional chicken, lamb, beef, prawn and pork kebabs, and struck up a conversation with the little boys.
"So what have you been up to Bronson, you fat tub of shit? Oh yeah, this is Danny by the way. You don't know him." he said as he glared at me and gestured at Danny, who was also glaring at me.
"Schoolies, mate. So yeah, you know... all the stuff that entails. Well, maybe not, really. It looked a lot better on the internet. And the slutty girls I used to go school with all said it was going to be great. Still, it's better than that fucking stupid movie." I said, eagerly awaiting my fucking kebab.
"Yes, that movie could have been better," piped Danny. "One of the guys in it works at a Subway near my place. The little cunt got beetroot on my Chicken Fillet. Two stars."
We went on like this for a good five minutes, during which I received, consumed, and almost passed my kebabs. As well as getting my meal, the Dans got handed a Shisha by the ever-friendly waitstaff. For those not familiar with a Shisha, it's a traditional Middle-Eastern device, with which you smoke an assorted variety of drugs in a bong-like fashion; except it's a whole lot better. Where it differs from a bong is you don't have to hold a lighter over your dad's ruined garden hose to burn the euphoric and/or illegal substances contained therein; rather, there are two cubes of burning hot coals over a chamber containing the drugs of your choice, thus causing them to slowly smoulder as you inhale them through a large hose. We had (I think) tobacco, dried apple skins and molasses. However, you can put anything in it, like berries, herbs, chocolate, and of course the old favourite, marijuana. Dan explained this all to me.
"You can also have your mum flavoured. Tastes like shit though. Here, you want some?" he said as he held the wooden mouth-piece to my face. "Just take a huge, huge inhalation."
So I did.
Another area where a Shisha differs from most backyard bongs is the water inside is chilled, making for an extremely smooth pull back. This smooth inhalation is also helped by the active contents being of a much superior quality than your mostly placebo high-school hash from Eudlo or Mooloolaba.
And talk about feelings of light-headedness. It was like my skull softened to the permeable state of an ovum, afterwhich pillow-skinned, sperm-like creatures gently cradled my brain away to be smothered with marshmallows. Ah, those Middle-Eastern guys sure know how to have a good party.
"Thing is though," Danny said, "One toke of a Shisha is the equivelent of smoking about 15 cigarettes. It's heavy shit."
He was right. Telling the boys I'd best be off, I light-headedly walked in the direction to my friend Ronn's apartment, and walked into a noodle bar menu.
Now I'm not sure if this was that blessed Shisha playing up, but I swear I almost walked into Big Kev. Either that or it was just some fat guy wearing a flashy shirt who smelled like cleaning products. He actually seemed pretty depressed, making me doubt whether it actually was Big Kev or if his effervescent onscreen personality is genuine. It's one for the ages, that one is.

In a curious state, either from the Shisha or the obviously foul smell of Big Kev, a carried myself on to Ronn's apartment.