On Bloor Street a man rode his bicycle east while shouting into his cell phone. He was furious, his face torn in anger and his voice carrying a city block.<\/p>\n

The person on the other end of the connection was just going to get taken advantage of, \u201cfucked-over and left to rot, dammit!!\u201d His manner was so florid and over-the-top that I wondered if he was actually communicating with anyone other than himself, the phone serving merely as the magic portal for his interior dialogues.<\/p>\n

On the patio at the Second Cup sat three teenagers. \u201cDid you hear about the cannibal in Miami?\u201d the Asian girl asked. Smiling, she leaned forward and relishing each word she slowly added, \u201cHe ate the face right off a guy while he was alive!\u201d A campfire ghost story told over steaming cups of coffee.<\/p>\n

Two other teens, both younger, walked toward toward me. One of them was heavy and had the wounded look of a bully-magnet. He was upset that his younger brother was getting his own bedroom at an earlier age than he did. The look of hurt and anger on his face was so sincere that it was both funny and sad, and then after a moment, a little bit scary. Engrossed in his own misery, he passed by this flier posted on a newspaper box:<\/p>\n

<\/a><\/p>\n

A little further up the street a Native man was selling dream catchers on the sidewalk. The woman he was talking to looked enthusiastic and hopefully flirtatious. She had a last-call hue to her, and braless beneath her sundress she was hoping that the sunlight was catching in all the right places. The man was looking at her, a little bit pleased with himself, \u201c Chile?” he responded, “I used to sleep with a couple from Chile a few years ago.\u201d<\/p>\n

A skate boarder, cut off by a car, shouted curses and banged his fist on the trunk. The car came to a stop and everybody on the sidewalk slowed down– curiosity, anxiety and excitement now humming like a hydro wire. The window of the car powered down and an open-palmed hand emerged followed by the face of a middle-aged man. \u201cI\u2019m sorry,\u201d he said, \u201cit was my fault. I\u2019m getting old.\u201d The skate boarder, taken aback, wasn\u2019t sure what to do, so he just got back on his board and slipped invisibly into traffic, as if a fish free from the hook, now cutting deep into familiar waters.<\/p>\n

<\/a><\/p>\n

A woman who was probably around 50 hadn\u2019t been paying any attention to this little drama and was walking through the cluster of pedestrians stalled on the sidewalk. She had a salon tan and was wearing red jeans and jangly jewelry. Speaking firmly into her phone she said, \u201cI love you. That\u2019s all. I love you.\u201d And then she flipped her phone shut and smiling to herself, or to anybody who cared to notice, walked past the Shopper\u2019s Drug Mart and turned the corner.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

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