The first thing I realize upon entering the subway station is that it smells like a hospital cafeteria at breakfast time. Right away, I know this will be an eventful trip.
I'm reading Bukowski's Ham On Rye and I aim to take it slow, I want to taste every word more than bite all I can chew. I keep looking up in the faint hope to see something that'll make my day, perhaps the Fish Man I'd seen twice a few years ago (who kind of looked like this, but in purple, and with more normal eyes, and a blind man's cane), or a really, impossibly hot chick.
I'm about to reach my destination and abandon all hope when, as I'm exiting the train, I look to my immediate right to notice a man - no, a Giant - who was taller than the train itself, even from the outside. Everyone was staring at him, and he didn't seem phased by it at all. This was no handicap, it is a gift, you can tell by the smile on his face.
It isn't enough, but it's a start.
Off to La Belle Province for the usual Tuesday poutine, where they mess my order up... in my favour. I get two poutines, one of which I'll likely never even get to finish, but I have no one to share it with, and there are no beggars anywhere in sight, ironically. I'll have all the cheese, though, I must.
It's a good day to be me, but not one to work during. It's the type of day where I should just wander around the City and notice its eccentricities, hang with its freaks, bask in the world I used to live in.
I think that by growing up - because other people kept telling me to grow the fuck up - I have become an adult. A boring, normal adult. Days like this remind me of what used to fascinate me, and I wonder how I'd be if I'd stayed the same. I'd probably have been lonelier for longer stretches of my life, but I'm the type who feels lonely in a crowd of 50 friends anyhow. At this point, you'd be hard pressed to find me valid reasons to remain a boring, responsible adult.
Life seems so much funner on the other side.
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