Tuesday, October 31, 2006

Spadina streetcar

Caucasian woman, early 50s, glasses, blue Mountain Equipment Co-op jacket (you paid the $5 membership), knitted cardigan, white collared shirt, khakis, white running shoes (your "joggers), brown purse with buckled pockets strung across your chest, straightened brown hair with stray greys bouncing out, thin wedding ring, close cropped nails and cuticles, black umbrella dangling from wrist.

Joy Luck Club, Amy Tan (Ivy Books)

About 90 pages in:

At the end of our two-block alley was a small sandlot playground with swings and slides well-shined down the middle with use. The play area was bordered by wood-slat benches where old-country people sat cracking roasted watermelon seeds with their gurgling teeth and scattering the husks to an impatient gathering of gurgling pigeons.
You're a traveller. You dress for comfort, layered and practical. You fit everything into something else, and use your arm as a coat rack for your umbrella. And yet you carry a book. I wonder, do you rip out the pages as you go, lessening the load, littering garbage bins with the hard work of others? I don't think so. I think you'll leave it beside a sleeping body, bundled over a grate in front of St. Mike's, taking a break from carving bars of soap. You recycle.

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