A November afternoon in the Annex

As I walked our dog down the street two men passed by. “ So I didn’t want to go home smelling of Jack Daniels and this chick’s perfume, so I just stayed over at Phil’s. Sounds reasonable, right?” The other guy nodded, “Fuck, yeah!” These two men, passing through their middle age in denim jackets and baseball hats, still the same people they had been while sharing cigarettes in front of the high school gymnasium 30 years before.

On Lowther Street, a young mother cycled by, her child towed along behind her in a little trailer. She was so happy, healthy and competent looking that I thought she could put out fires with her mind. She was simply glowing, as if the sunlight was radiating out of her rather than falling upon her, and the fact that her child was actually screaming didn’t seem to diminish the gratitude she had for her life one bit.

On Bloor Street I saw a supremely confident man. He was wearing a perfectly tailored suit and sunglasses, and with his hands tucked deep into his pant pockets he strode down the street chewing gum. His facial expression was fixed, as if posing for unseen photographers, and I looked warmly toward him, trying to get him to acknowledge me, but it was not possible for he was projecting ever outward, letting nothing of the world around him in.

When the dog and I returned home there was a street couple resting on the edge of the pathway to our apartment. He was defeated looking, bearded and hiding beneath a ball cap while she was round, ruddy and loud in appearance. They both had huge knapsacks on their backs. “Hey team!” I said, as I moved past them. They nodded, sheepish, maybe a little defensive, and then inside from my desk I watched through the front window as she secretly passed him a big bottle of whiskey. The amber liquid sloshed in the bottle, was then caught by the sun and for an instant appeared luminous and divine– a small, perfect miracle unfolding before me.