People of the City

Hey guys! How are you? I am good. I haven't updated last week, because well, I've just been off my game. I hope you enjoy this post! ---------------------------- I went to The Eaton Centre*. Something always draws me in about the Eaton Centre. This used to be a place I took the Go bus* to escape to when I was younger. Even if I couldn’t afford to buy anything, I often ended up there. I’d go alone, skip school on a week day, just to browse around the stores, looking to find some “magical” item that would make all my problems disappear. Often I ended up spending money on Mrs Fields cookies and Baskin Robbins. Those were my “eaty” days during university, and I now look upon them with mixed but altogether pleasant emotions.

There were all kinds of people dressed in the latest fashions. Girls are into faux fur coats and big stomp boots this year. Not that those aren't nice, but I find faux fur coats useless when it comes to VERY cold weather, and the boots are too heavy to be exploring the city in. But those women look SO stylish. I feel bad when I look at others who are like that, and wonder why can't I be like that too. I wish I was the kind of person who could dump a buttload of cash on a coat and not feel bad about it. I wish I could walk around in heels and just deal with the pain. I wish I didn't have to write an inner screenplay for buying the most basic pair of socks.

The next day, I went to Mark’s Warehouse*** in the Stockyards****. Maybe it’s because I was sick of the Eaton Centre.

On the way back, I saw a man.

He was scrawny, possibly in his fifties or sixties, only wearing a track suit on a cold, windy day. He was holding up a Presto card*****, and when he spoke he had a slight Eastern European accent,

“Excuse me miss. Do you think this card will work?”

“The last time I used it, there was 20 dollars on it.”

“I am going to get off the street car, and get on a bus. It will work?”

“I broke my back, I didn’t want to get up this morning. But I have an appointment so I have to go.”

“When I get on the bus again, will this card work?”

“I don’t know how long I am going to be in the hospital for. I broke my back, and I have an appointment.” “When I come back, will this card still work?”

I answered his questions to the best of my abilities, but they seem to go in a loop. It was like he was a bottle and once opened he didn’t know how to close. He just kept asking the same question again and again, in slightly different ways.

Finally, the streetcar came, and he got on.

I thought about why he would have a back injury, why didn’t he wear a warmer coat, why was he so worried about the presto card not working, and why did he feel the need to talk to everyone around him throughout his trip. And I could feel a sense of weightiness and sadness. It reminded me of my home town in Hamilton.