Sean is dressed in his Saturday best: oversized Tommy Hilfiger polo, Adidas tracksuit pants, Air Jordans and a Nautica hat. Who said there wasn’t money to be made in selling oregano to naive CBC boys in Freo? Sean strokes his disgusting excuse for a goatee while tagging FSK on a CAT bus stop on Marine Parade. His Nike backpack is full of permanent markers, a bottle of Cougar Bourbon and a hammer he stole from the back window of a bus. Sean meets up with his ratty crew in the Esplanade Park to pre-drink before an agro session at Harbourside.

Sean’s mate “Hektor”, opts for two bottles of Passion Pop, while “Sikkaz” is happy with his lemon-lime UDLs. It’s now 9pm, and the group are feeling sufficiently belligerent enough to head into the greatest shit-show south of the river: the majestic Harbourside. Two psychopaths masquerading as bouncers meet them at the door. Sean and his mates are let in with the unspoken understanding that they will be dragged out of the club later and punch on with the notorious security staff. “Fucking pussy”, a bald bouncer with a head tattoo whispers at Sean as he walks past. Itching for it.

The top level and balcony of Harbourside was relatively tame. Hundreds of young men and women stand around drinking Smirnoff Double Blacks until they shit themselves while trying to get to one of the blue-lighted bathroom facilities. Sean and the lads have no interest in this fancy shit. They head straight down to the filthy bowels of Harbourside. A place where dreams go to die.

The bottom level consisted of a “dance floor” and dark bar. You entered at your own risk. Drunk street rats blatantly smoking darts around the most volatile dance floor in the game. Without fail, Sean accuses some drunken Irishmen of spilling beer on him. The pair engages in aggressive shirt pulling and attempted headlocks. A shredded bouncer with a ponytail looks on with a grin, “soon”, he thinks. Hektor comes in with a Smirnoff bottle and glasses the Irishmen, sending him to the ground.

So far, Sean and the boys have proven themselves worthy adversaries in tonight’s cage fight. They are likely to be chosen by the bouncers for the weekly smash down by the train tracks. Sean walks to the bar to order Harbourside’s premier irresponsible cocktail: the $12 Long Island Ice Tea, made with full shots. By this point, Sikkaz is fingering a girl he knows on the dancefloor and Hektor is having a cheeky piss in the corner. Sean slams back his glass of liquor and heads upstairs to talk to the classier Notre Dame girls on the balcony. In a scene straight out of Titanic, a cute Claremont girl takes an interest in Sean’s rough charm. “Is there room for something other than a silver spoon up your arse, woman?” Write that one down, lads.

Sean has offended the cardinal law of Harbourside: the dirty street rats stick to the cage-fight in the basement and leave the normals alone. The agro bald bouncer decides to make his move and forcibly evicted Sean. Hektor and Sikkaz’s dero-sense starts tingling, and they run to Sean’s aid. “Dog”, “weak cunt”, “shank him” and “urghghgh” can be heard ringing through the Harbour.

After the brawl, the group lick their wounds and head to Hungry Jacks to throw Bacon Deluxes at the HJ’s security guard in the hope of an easier biffo. The circle of smash goes on.

Documenting the Human Zoo is thirsty work, so if you enjoyed what you read how about buying Belle a beer, ay?

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