On Wednesday morning I was in a hurry. I gave no thought to my attire* and forgot my ipod. I also forgot to bring something to read on the subway. Thus, on the 9:15 train, I found myself doing the shifting stare - five seconds on the anti-gambling advert above the door, three seconds on the business woman in the seat across the train, a glance at the floor, seven seconds studying the train map...
Two stops before I alighted, a man walked into my car. He was older, with scraggy, greying, brown hair and a quilted jacket that probably had a flannel shirt under it. He bounced a little as he walked, and, in marked difference to the comatose commuters around him, looked around alertly. Perhaps too alertly. A whiff of crazy or chemically enhanced floated around him.
He walked down the car and stopped in front of me. Close enough that there was no obvious alternative place to look. Swaying slightly (with the movement of the train? with beat of his own drum?) he looked down.
"Those are great boots... And I like your hat. You look great!"
-Beat-
"Do you fish?"
"Uhh... no" I stammered.
"Huh. Too bad." He rejoined, and carried on down the car.
I seem to have found my people in Toronto: crazy ice fishermen.
*I was decked out in jeans, Sorel boots, a down vest, and completely unmatching scarf, hat, and mittens. I probably looked like a homeless person who had robbed MEC...
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2 commentaires:
Ice fishermen are awesome! Except when they're assholes. But yeah, ice fishing!
(I'm glad you bought the sorel boots.)
in my dream world, i would always look like a homeless person who robbed MEC. In my real world, I just lust after this look.
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