Me: Feeling good today, very confident!
Me: You’re right, my Mindful Meditation session did go really well!
Me: Meditated the shit out of it! I was fucking Deerpark Chopra!
Me: No, I think it is Deerpark.
Me: Really?
Me: Deepak? That doesn’t sound like a name at all, more like a company that makes boxes or something.
Me: I don’t believe you.
Me: I’m going to look it up.
Me: Okay.
Me: Yes.
Me: I guess it is kind of amusing that I could get the last name right but still butcher the first name in such a “child-like” and “ challenged” way.
Me: I’m still going to call him Deerpark though.
Me: No, not stubborn, whimsical and playful. Like an otter.
Me: I also went to my first lymphatic massage session!
Me: Well, they tap your face.
Me: And yeah, that drains your lymph glands. Yes, by tapping.
Me: $200
Me: No, they didn’t wear diamond-encrusted gloves while doing the tapping.
Me: No, it wasn’t a topless lymphatic massage, either.
Me: Well, the happy ending is that my lymph glands are draining!
Me: I thought your insurance covered it!
Me: Fuck.
Me: Well, there are only 7 more sessions.
Me: Look, having drained lymph glands is important.
Me: At least as important as your “Power Skating” classes with Pierre. I mean, 3 times a week??
Me: I don’t trust Pierre, don’t believe he played in the NHL.
Me: Also don’t like the way you laugh around him.
Me: No, of course I trust you, my love.
Me: I’m at the Dark Horse Café now.
Me: Decaffeinated green tea, gangster style.
Me: Nowhere to sit in here.
Me: Woman says she’s holding last chair for a friend.
Me: Says she will be there in 5 minutes.
Me: Dazzling smile. Entirely distracting. Have forgotten why I was talking to her.
Me: I wish she did lymphatic massage.
Me: I’ll send you a picture.
Me: Really? Creepy and inappropriate?
Me: On every level? Really?
Me: You’re really weird, you know that?
Me: Okay, 12 minutes have passed now and her friend still hasn’t shown up. I’m going to say something.
Me: I wonder if she’s a model?
Me: Okay, it’s been over 20 minutes! I’m going to give her a piece of my mind!
Me: Her beauty doesn’t entitle her to anything!
Me: You’re right, she is exactly like that Leprechaun guy on the TTC!!
Me: Only radiant and if the Leprechaun were made out of sunlight.
Me: Like Pierre, you said he’s made of light, and what did you say, “thigh muscles,” didn’t you?
Me: I WILL SAY SOMETHING!
Me: I AM NOT A SLAVE TO BEAUTY!
Me: (Except yours, my love)
Me: Ok, here I go.
Me: Losing my resolve. Think it’s melting. Standing with tea is fine.
Me: Hemingway wrote standing up.
Me: Her laptop bag deserves seat in crowded coffee shop.
Me: Laptop bag like a holy relic.
Me: Friend just floated in like a beautiful perfume.
Me: Think Pierre emerging from a spray of ice chips.
Me: Such beauty, should be a cover charge here.
Me: They are now talking together, as angels do.
Me: All is sunlight.
]]>
She had a shitty day and was tired, and right before her she saw a man who had his knapsack on the seat directly beside him. Politely, the woman asked if he might move the bag so that she could sit down. The man called her an airhead and told her to get the fuck away from him, before eventually stomping on her foot and pushing her away. Much of this was caught on camera and posted online. It became a huge story, with the now widely despised man in question being dubbed the TTC Leprechaun. All sorts of vigilante investigations have been launched, one of which turned up the Leprechaun’s Diary:
Monday, September 22, 2014
Put on bright red shirt and piano key tie, accessorized by a black beret. Didn’t feel right. Changed piano key tie for a bolo tie and knew I was rocking it. Took a new picture for my Tinder account. Still nothing. Got on bus. Nobody challenged me so I spit on my hand and then rubbed it on that stripper pole thing that everybody with poor balance holds onto.
Tuesday, September 23, 2014
Today it was a sleeveless t-shirt and a do-rag. I don’t care if it’s only 9 degrees out, a man sometimes has to show his dominance and make a display. Waxed my beard and loaded up my iPod with the underrated Tom Cochrane. 
He’s just as fucking good as Tom Petty, I don’t care what the loser critics say. Got on bus. Rubbed up against a teenager. She didn’t know what to do. Made my point.
Wednesday, September 24, 2014
Put some poison out on the fire escape for Ms. K, the neighbour’s shit-festival of a cat and then checked my Tinder account. Nothing. Checked Grinder. Nothing. Watched a few beheading videos. Took some selfies and then bought some really cool dude jewelry on Etsy. Wore my sleeveless t-shirt again today and also put on some Axe body spray and a bowler hat. Made a sandwich. Got on bus. Coughed in the face of a woman and then said, “sorry,” with really heavy sarcasm. It was pretty funny. Later, I called the cashier at Tim Horton’s a Fuck Bucket when she screwed up my order.
Thursday, September 25, 2014
Refilled fire escape poison. New frames arrived in the mail. Very excited. Put on lucky, bright green shirt and bowler hat. Got on bus. Confused an old woman looking for directions, making her get off at the wrong stop, and then flirt-shoved a woman that wanted to sit beside me. We had good, playful banter and I think we had some real chemistry as I saw her sneaking a photo of me.
