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.

“This is not just a metaphor for my time as mayor, but for life. It’s a struggle, it’s always a battle, but even when it’s -2 out and all you want to do is watch YouTube videos in bed and drink Gatorade, you have to get up, go out there and work to make the world a better place. As the great and controversial Japanese author Haruki Murakami said, “Pain is inevitable. Suffering is optional.”

“Ah geez, I don’t remember this one. It looks like I’m with Jesus. Maybe a parade?”

“Couldn’t believe how frigging big that owl was! Truth be told, I was kind of scared of the thing, but in politics, as in life, you have to overcome your fears, and I did. I looked that owl in the eyes and said to myself, “Mr. Owl, I respect you, but I am not afraid of you, not even if you do that Exorcist thing with your head. You shall have no dominion over me!” And even though I am a man and the owl is a bird creature, and I was speaking in my head, it’s like the owl “got” what I was saying. We came to an understanding and I overcame my fear of that owl. That’s what politics is all about.”

“I remember that day! It’s the small moments that comprise a life, isn’t it? I had to take the TTC because my driver had been arrested for something, forget what. Anyway, I’m a man of the people and had been talking to everybody, learning about them, and then I had a moment to myself, some quiet time for reflection, and I was thinking about my fantasy football team and how to make Toronto a better city. That’s when the Ferris wheel idea came to me.”

“This is one of my favourite moments from all my time in office. For a brief instance, we were all able to put aside our differences and come together as one. It was beautiful, man, just beautiful. One love, that’s what it’s all about, one love. That’s how I’d like my years as Mayor of Toronto to be remembered. When I was mayor, Toronto was the city that danced like nobody was watching.”

“I was looking up at that sculpture of the rat, and it looked to me like it had been decapitated and its head had just been put up on a spit as a trophy, everybody laughing. I don’t know why, but I was suddenly overcome by an empathy for the creature and I just wanted to reach out and touch its face, let it know that it was loved.”

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.

Me: (Examining the flyer he handed me while our dog Heidi was jumping about barking hysterically) Mister Adam Vaughan, let me quote here, it says, “I understand the transformative effect that good public transit can have on a community.”

Adam Vaughan: Yes, I think good transit is essential to relieve congestion, ease pollution and allow people of all income levels to have access to all the wonderful things our city has to offer.

Me: You know, I once saw a man expose his penis on the Queen streetcar.

(Awkward silence but for Heidi’s barking)

Me: It was there for people of all income levels to experience. Would you say that penis was one of the wonderful things our city has to offer? That it had the power to transform?

Adam Vaughan: I’d say that was an unfortunate incident that’s another example of the TTC being underfunded and the mentally ill underserved.

Me: One woman screamed and threw her knitting at him. It was a good strategy actually, as he hurried out through the back doors after that.

Adam Vaughan: Well, I’m running to become your Member of Parliament and I’m hoping I can rely on your support.

Me: I guess my endorsement would mean quite a bit for your campaign. I’m sure you want to get as many well-known writers as possible on board. Just makes sense, that.

Adam Vaughan: Yes, of course.

Me: I have a few more questions for you, do you mind?

Adam Vaughan: That’s why I’m here. Please, feel free!

Me: Well, the truth is that I know absolutely nothing about you other than what I just scanned on this flyer, so let’s start with some basics: If you could choose what to come back as, what would it be?

Adam Vaughan: Oh, geez, that’s a tough one.

Me: You can’t say “ a great fiscal policy for Toronto” or something lame like that.

Adam Vaughan: Spiderman. I’d love to be able to swing through the city.

Me: You can’t say Spiderman. He’s fictional. And that’s not much of an endorsement for our public transit, you know.

Adam Vaughan: Okay then, perhaps a cat. A cat that’s smart enough to take public transit.

Me: Good choice.

Adam Vaughan: Thanks.

Me: What do you consider the most overrated virtue?

Adam Vaughan: Probably piety, it’s a kind of arrogance. This sounds like the Vanity Fair questionnaire, is it?

Me: Yes, the bits of it I can remember, anyway. Personally, I think confidence is horribly overrated.

Adam Vaughan: I see. Are you on disability?

Me: No.

Adam Vaughan: Well, thank you for your time, and please remember to vote on Election Day!

Not only were the bikes like riding something from the 19^th century, but the program struggled financially and has been being rebranded to “Bike Share Toronto,” and is currently looking for a new corporate sponsor.

I have submitted a list of new names for “Bike Share Toronto” hoping that they might prove appealing to the public and sponsorship!

1. Le Dificyle

This name will honour Canada’s bilingual nature, the city of Toronto’s multicultural character and be completely up front about how hard it is to ride the massive bike.

2. World Class Bicycles

This name would highlight Toronto’s status as a World Class City.

3. The Bumbaclot

Inspired by Rob Ford, the world’s greatest Mayor, this name harkens back to his drug fuelled rant in Jamaican patois that was filmed at the Steak Queen. Bumbaclot, as everyone now knows, is Jamaican slang for a cloth or rag used for menstrual blood before tampons were widely available, an accurate reflection of contempt considering how most people feel about the rental bikes after using one.

4. The Film Festival Flash (Triple F)

Tying in with Toronto’s World Class International Film Festival, this name will publicize the great event and all the stars, posers and wannabes who populate the streets during it’s run, and the bikes will also be promoted as a safe and alcohol-friendly conveyance by which to get from party to party!

5. The Velociraptor

Piggybacking on the success of the Toronto Raptors basketball team, and cleverly using the French word for bicycle as a nod to Toronto’s great multicultural personality, the Velociraptor would make for a stellar moniker for the bike rentals! (Suggestion: dinosaur arms holding a basket protruding from handlebars of bike)

6.   The Catapult

Given that the streetcar tracks all over the city streets spell doom for cyclists, especially those (tourists) not familiar with the roads, and typically catapult cyclists into cars and streetlights, the Catapult is a perfect name for the bikes.

7. LAGFPPS’s (Little Above Ground Foot-Powered Private Subways)

In keeping with Rob Ford’s promise to bring more subways to Toronto, this name will revolutionize the public’s perception of just what a subway is and will, as usual, save the taxpayer billions of dollars.

8. The Ton O’ Fun

This playful name will combine the weight of the bike with the joy of cycling, making an adventure on the city streets as much fun as a carnival ride!

9. The Ontarian

A classic homage to this great province in which we live!

10.  The Pussy Wagon

This name, once again inspired by Toronto’s Mayor, references his statement that he “has more than enough pussy to eat at home.”  Gritty, urban and controversial, it gives Toronto the World Class, Tarantinoesque edge it has always sought.

On my way to visit Rachelle at work, I was at the Kennedy subway stop making the transition to the Rapid Transit (above ground light rail) that would see me to my final destination. It was around 2:00 in the afternoon and as I stood in an elevator that was near to packed with women and their strollers, a woman stood outside trying to figure out if she should get in with us or not.

The elevator was crowded, but there was room for one more person and I expansively waved her in, “Come on, there’s room for one more!” She smiled and shook her head, deciding that she’d just as soon wait a minute or two for a less congested ride. I shrugged, looked back at the assembly of people behind me in the elevator and in an exaggerated, Homer Simpson kind of whisper said, “I don’t think she likes the way we look.” The women in the elevator gave me thin, wordless smiles and then continued along with their lives, speaking in languages I could not understand. It was at this moment that I realized the woman who didn’t get on the elevator was white and that everyone inside of it was dark skinned. At some point in their lives, perhaps even at some point during the day, they’d experienced a situation where somebody “didn’t like the way they looked.”

I was a middle-aged white guy, and I was a moron.

Trying to make things better I said, “She thinks we look tough, like a really mean gang,” and then I smiled hopefully, punching at air in an attempt to be cute. At this point, with the elevator doors now closing, I was being completely ignored.

On the car in the next train I was on, there were probably about 50 people, of which I was the only white person. This is typical on this line, but the funny thing about it is that I had never realized that was the case until that day.  Such is my sense of my entitlement and belonging that I can sit in a car full of 50 people who are not white and see them as looking different and not myself.

It was an ugly thing to realize, and I sat there concentrating on the seemingly aimless movements of a butterfly that had accidentally fluttered into our train, instead of this separateness I had never before quite perceived, but now acutely felt.

She looked a little bit like a turtle, and as she stood there on the platform she reached her hand back into the car, which was then received by the hand of a tiny, incredibly ancient Asian man, who also looked a little bit like a turtle. Delicately and with her guidance– his skin as thin as dried paper– he emerged onto the platform like royalty. The woman then let his hand go and hurried off into the day, her lack of sentiment somehow beautiful, even inspiring.

A thin, teenage Indian boy sat beside his mother. Plugged into his iPod, his body language was awkward and secretive, as if attempting to fashion a world that was impenetrable and separate to his square mother. He pulled out a Burger King Whopper from his knapsack and a boyish smile began to accidentally illuminate his face. His mother’s eyes– instinctively falling on her boy– began to smile. He was too skinny and needed to eat more, she thought to herself.

Nearby was a large and pretty young woman in a flesh-coloured dress that she somehow managed to spill both in to and out of. A gold necklace with the name Chloe, written in kind of perfume bottle script, hung from her neck. She had narrow, concentrated eyes and toenails painted the colour of bubble gum. Intensely focused she was playing a game on her iPhone, furiously thumbing the screen, the tip of her tongue protruding just a tad through her teeth.

At Rowe Farms on Bloor Street Rufus Wainwright was idling through the various products they had for sale, lingering on the organic milk. Which one to pick? He couldn’t decide. He couldn’t have seemed any more bored–ennui poured off him like humidity, like song.

An elderly woman was standing in front of me at the cheese shop. I asked her what sort of cheese she thought I should buy. She was utterly thrown by the question, but after she had made her purchase and regained her composure, she took the time to pause before leaving, “ You have a nice cheese, then,” she said to me.

Back on the street a beautiful young woman in a pretty pink dress was being pushed along the sidewalk in a wheelchair. It was so sunny and clear, and the light was catching her hair in ways that made it appear to glow. There was something holy in that moment, and everybody on the sidewalk seemed to understand this. Like pedestrian clutter, we all parted and stepped back as they passed, each one of us smiling and nodding, murmuring our small gratitudes.

They were about the same age and had a host of similarities, none more striking than that they were both deeply engrossed in a book. Held up in their palms right before their faces, their other hand clutching a railing, the books seemed like silver trays from which they could just blow a puff of words into the other’s face.  It was kind of comical, actually, to be so intimate, so open  in posture, to be in the midst of so much ready potential, yet to be willfully oblivious and inward in the face of it.

Buffeted about by this train, I will stand and try to read snatches from my book instead of making eye contact with you.

I found them magnetic. I couldn’t take my eyes off of them. They were made for one another! Why couldn’t they see that? Why did they deny it? They were practically in the same sleeping bag!

I could contain myself no longer and said to them, “You two have a lot in common.”

The woman ignored me and the man looked at me the way you’d imagine a man would look at a stranger saying something weird and inappropriate on a subway.

“I just mean the books,” I continued, “you’re both reading so intently, so close together, it looks like you’re sharing the same book. Really, you may as well just hook-up.”

The man looked nervous, shaking his head in the face of a crazy, but the woman seemed amused.

“Thank you, Dr. Phil,” she said.

I shrugged, “ I just call ‘em as I see ‘em.”

The man looked up from his book and at me, “Maybe you should just mind your own business.”

And then from three seats over a guy piped up. “Dudes right, man. It’s like you two are married, just lying back in bed before going to sleep, reading your stories. Shit, you should be together, you won’t find anything better on no eHarmony.”

It was a slightly awkward, if validating situation, and I wasn’t sure what to do so I introduced myself to everyone.

I then asked the man what it was he looked for in a partner. He sighed through his nose.

“I like intelligence and an open-mind. I need loyalty.”

I then asked the woman.

“Oh,” she said, “ I hate those qualities in a person. All I want is somebody who’s a Scorpio!” And then she smiled the smile that would bring the man out of his shell.

“Well that’s funny,” he said, “because I’m a Scorpio!”

The guy from three seats over then said, “Yeah, yeah, and you both listen to CBC radio and like animals. Just go on and fall in love,” and then he motioned to me to come and sit with him and leave them alone, and so I did, and when I got off the subway a few minutes later, they were still talking.

Set against the iPod earphones she’s still plugged into, her bookish attentiveness seems somehow dissonant, like stumbling upon a Canadian television program while living in the United States. As she reads, her fingers unconsciously trace the contours of her face, and when she dusts the tip of her nose with her thumb and forefinger, a smile slowly emerges, her mind sparking and flashing, now moving faster than the train.

The subway stops and the doors open. Suddenly, the smell of band-aids, and then the doors close and we’re propelled forward again through the tunnel. An older woman sits down, rests her head against the windowpane and closes her eyes. Seeking peace, she could be anywhere—remembering the horse she rode as a child, playing with her sister in her parents driveway as a girl,

or maybe that feeling of being asked to dance for the very first time, of Bob Hendry’s hand leading her out to the center of the gymnasium, the dots of light scattering on the dark floor in front of her like the plot to a life she could never imagine– everything unknown and waiting before her, everything leading to now.