Somewhere on Fitzroy

I'm speaking with an Irish guy named Dave on Sally's mobile. He's also recently arrived in Australia and essentially in the same boat: hardly knows anyone, doesn't have much in the way of plans.
We're trying to organize a way to meet up tomorrow. I'm being thoroughly chastised for not having a phone. Don't have one yet, I keep saying.
"I've only been here 5 days!"
"I got here two weeks ago and I have one."
[I never know how to respond to this argumentation tactic.]

He tells me to meet him somewhere on Fitzroy Street. "Where?"
"There are lots of good cafés along Fitzroy."
"I know, but where? What cross street?"
"Just on Fitzroy."

Fitzroy is not a small street. Moncton, think Main. Ottawa, think Elgin. Toronto, think... um, Harbord? Hey Toronto, d'you realize you have an inordinate number of long streets? It's true!

We settle on me calling him from a payphone somewhere on Fitzroy at around 11:30am.
"You really need to get yourself a mobile."
Yes, thank you.

***

Sally had been trying to help set up a meeting point, hearing only my side of the conversation.
"So, who is this guy?!"
"He's Irish."
"Oh."

Apparently, that answered everything.

***

We met the next day and wandered around the beach and St. Kilda, an area I'm becoming increasingly familiar with. Had cake for lunch from one of the little Euro-style shops. It was really good to talk to a fellow traveller; it's been a surprisingly long week.