Tuesday, April 04, 2006

As I board the streetcar, I glance around, to see that the only other passenger is a TTC officer, dressed in full grey and maroon regalia. There is a protective white wrapper over his hat -- probably for the rain earlier in the day. He looks at me with clear, light eyes; they stand out against a tan incongruous with a cool April evening. Voices crackle from his radio. 

I sit down and try to open the window. It sticks. I put both hands to work, tugging, grunting, and muttering "frack" but the window stays resolutely unmoved.

He notices. "Stuck?"

"Stuck," I agree resignedly, thinking he wants to share some cynicism about the organization's disrepair.

"No problem." He puts down his notebook, gets to his feet, and hoists a crowbar up off its brackets by the doors. It's usually used to nudge tracks straight, especially where they split off into turns.

He braces the tip against the window; when I lean back, he says, "I won't hit you." He forces it open with a shove.

"Great service."

He's returning the crowbar to its place. "Service with a smile."  

I'm undoing my jacket front when he says, "Hasn't been open all winter."

I smile and nod, unable to think of something clever to reply, but later, I realize, Neither have I.

Spring can't be here sooner.

posted at 7:10:30 am

April 11, 2006   11:39 AM PDT
April 5, 2006   03:41 AM PDT
He just wanted in your pants.
April 4, 2006   10:36 PM PDT
Man, we didn't even have a winter this year, friggin got down into the thirties once or twice and then, BAM Seventies EIghties, and then melting.
April 4, 2006   09:02 AM PDT

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Glo'ri'a'na, noun:
1. An alternative form of "Gloria."
2. As "Americana" defines itself as artefacts of American culture, "Gloriana" consists of the artefacts of my culture.


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