am I happy?
(a short story)
(yet to be published)

It has always been my dream, to live in the city, the convenience of it, close to everything—I can walk to work—and the easy access to city life especially its nightlife, a way of relaxing I can't do without after a hard day's work. Now that I've realized my dream and moved into my own unit on the fifteenth floor of this high-rise on Broadway, am I happy?
I'll come to that.

The view from my balcony. Simply glorious! The Harbour Bridge. I can glimpse it by leaning over the railing carefully and craning my neck.
Now that I'm living in the city, am I happy?
Well..........I could be happier.

Why do I have to fork out five hundred bucks a quarter? What for?
So we can employ a security officer, the strata management tells me.
Yeah, security! One night I managed to get stuck in the lift for twenty whole minutes. Why? Because I'd left my electronic card in my apartment and as a result, couldn't get the lift to open its door. Or move.
So we can maintain the gym, the swimming pool, the spa and the Turkish bath.

Yeah, amenities! I'm forced, of course, to take advantage of the facilities provided. After all, I'm paying heaps in strata management fees. Am I wrong? That's why I use the gym for workouts and to practise my karate everyday, come rain, come shine, whether I feel like it or not.

Many a morning I've taken the lift down to the gym, got off at the ground floor and what have I forgotten? The key to the gym. So, what do I have to do? Ride all the fifteen floors up to my flat. Then when I leave the gym after my workout, you've guessed it, I can't get back into the building. I've left my electronic card up in my apartment.

The nightlife! Yeah, that's what I live for, but my friends—envious suburbnites, of course, who love nothing better than to bad-mouth city living—warn me against walking the city streets after dark. You'll get mugged. Just for your Addidas shoes.

Mugging people for their shoes? I can't believe it. I've heard stories of teenage gangs doing that but I still can't believe it. I would've thought people's wallets would be more valuable than their footwear.
My friends were being alarmist, right?

One evening what they had predicted would happen happened.
I was walking to this nightclub in Pitt Street—that's the beauty of city living: you don't need a car.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, five thuggish teenagers appeared and quickly surrounded me. They demanded I hand over my wallet. There! my friends were wrong. These muggers wanted my wallet, not my shoes! But, on second thought, maybe my friends were right, maybe the reason these thugs wanted my wallet, not my shoes was because they were leather ones and not the expensive Addidas, Reebok or Nike footwear they prized.
I'm a black belt in karate if you don't already know.
Were they asking for it or what?
They were asking for it.

I floored the five of them. No sweat really. They picked themselves up and scooted off but I managed to grab one of them by the collar before he could escape. I thumped him again.

Then an idea hit me. Why not take the bastard's shoes? I looked down at his feet. Wow, Nike shoes! I made the helpless louse take them off. Then I booted him in the butt before sending him packing. In his socks.
Carrying my booty, one under each arm, I continued on my way. Presently I came upon this anorexic woman slouched against a shop front, begging for loose change.

Should I give her money?
No, I shouldn't. I'd only be encouraging her because she'd spend it on more drugs. I shouldn't encourage her. I shouldn't give her money.
I gave her money.

And the Nike shoes to boot.
So, am I happy living in the city?
You tell me.