Tuesday, May 22, 2007

Bloor Line, steadying a hot coffee while dialing in the music.

Black woman, early 30s, wearing beige pants, dark blue top and blue-and-white polka dot headband pushing the loose curls from her forehead.

Long Walk To Freedom: The Autobiography of Nelson Mandela, Nelson Mandela (Back Bay Books)

Page 203:

We were taken in sealed police vans escorted by a half-dozen troop carriers filled with armed soldiers. One would have thought a full-scale civil war was under way from the precautions the state was taking with us.
A man enters the train, takes the seat across from her and mutters at the floor. His brow is furrowed; deep creases. His eyes are wide, steeled and glassy. His rage sits in his shoulders and fists, clenched. His thighs tense and he leans forward, rocking, rubbing the back of his head with one hand, the other poking his temple repeatedly in the form of a gun. I look away, to her. Her chest is heaving, the musculature of her face suppressing tears.

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