It’s 7 am on Saturday morning and Lewis is watering his lawn in his lycra mid-life crisis kit. He keeps his front garden in impeccable condition. Even a single weed could be mistaken as a sign of some ghastly Como-esque brand poverty, a risk Lewis isn’t prepared to take.
After giving his neighbours a barrage of man-bulge he clip-clops to his road bike and cycles in the middle of the road all the way to Mends Street for breakfast.
His lycra-clad friends have already secured a table at Atomic Cafe. “Did you guys see all that vomit outside of the Windsor?” The group of men make faces like they’d just been approached by window washers at the Canning Highway off-ramp.
Lewis muses, “probably some Kensington blow-ins, that’s the problem with South Perth you know”. The group all agree while their pudgy bodies flow hypnotically like lycra lava lamps.
Lewis answers a call and loudly lawyers the shit out of the person on the other end. He takes extra care to make sure everyone in the cafe can feel the air swinging from his big business dick.
He’s drunk off self-importance and sends a barista a cheeky wink. She’s only 18 but the force of the wink has made her feminine wiles want to retreat into early menopause.
He sucks in his man gunt and turns to his friends, “going to surprise the wife tonight for her birthday”. His friend asks, “where are you taking her?” Lewis responds, “Cocos, of course”.
No doubt Lewis’ wife is going to be blown away after being taken to the same restaurant he has taken her to for the past 20 years. Lewis continues, “Mends St has it all, I mean where else can you get a view of the river while you eat?” Plenty of places Lewis, plenty of places.
After breakfast, Lewis has a few hours to kill before his wife gets back from shopping and needs to test-run her new Lululemon fitness attire on the Foreshore. There is only one thing for it: take the BMW X5 down to the car wash on Canning Highway and give it a very public deep clean.
He gets dressed in his matching Gant shorts and polo, slips on his Ralph Lauren cap and leather loafers then turns on 94.5: soft and comfortable – just like South Perth.
Lewis is sure to clean every bit of dirt that his Wesley College licence plates picked up on his last tour de winery – after all, it’s important people know his children are privately schooled.
While scrubbing his plates he sees a bogan pull up with his jet ski. No doubt he has just come from the bogan blow-in Mecca that is the South Perth boat ramp, “we really need some kind of wall”, he thinks.