Shopping shenanigans

Today marked my first shopping experience in Sydney, and my new priorities became quite clear; I bought one item of clothing that wasn't dance gear. Surprisingly it wasn't the stores and some of their astronomical prices that caught my eyes, but the tiny little quirks of the streets.
My first preoccupation was a street sign that read "smail street." My brain didn't know whether to think of a post office, or a snail, and I'm not sure that this is a common problem, but it left me seriously confused.
This was closely followed by a small, peeling sticker on a brick wall corner. It was in the shape of a bottle, and said "the soy sauce room." I'm sure it was just a little restaurant or something, but its dingy placement, design and peeling nature automatically left me wondering what kind of crazy cult symbol it was, or what really happened in this mysterious soy sauce room.
I marvel that, even with our amount of modern technology to teach us things, some people can just have no common sense. As I waited at a traffic light crossing, a lady came around the corner, driving with her headphones plugged into the car stereo. Despite the fact that her windows were up, and she was the only one in the car, she didn't seem to grasp the idea that no one else could hear her music. I wonder what she could have been listening to, that required such extreme protection. Either she is an international spy, or has a serious and cringe worthy addiction to one direction.
My last city experience for the day was possibly the most surreal. As I walked past a café and into central station, there was a guy sitting drinking coffee, and smoking a hookah. I kid you not; a full sized ornamental hookah. This raised so many questions for me. Is this legal? What did the café owners think? And how on earth did he get it there? I mean, it's not really the sort of thing people take on the train with them for a day trip into the city.
Since getting home I haven't done much but almost set my tea towel on fire. I was lighting a beautiful new candle that I was given as a gift today, and it came with those giant matches that are supposed to stop you burning your fingers. How ironic that it wasn't my fingers that needed saving. In a way that only I could manage, the match snapped in half as I struck it against the abrasive siding, and the lit end flew across the kitchen, hit my hanging tea towel, and fell to the tiles. The candle was eventually lit, and thankfully, nothing else caught fire.
                                                                      Little (slightly scorched) Duck, out.