We’re taking this show on the road, or taking this page on public transport in any case. Writing and walking and sitting and moving in large contraptions that propel many people towards their destination simultaneously. There’s some guy rocking the Canadian tuxedo, cap turned backwards, denim shirt hanging open expose a ratty t-shirt underneath. His facial expression says people pay me to put paint on their things. There’s a girl up the back of the bus (oh, we’re on a bus now by the way) with short blonde bleached hair, those lip stud things that go underneath your lips on both sides. Also cat ears. The largest part of me (my brain) hopes that there’s no occasion prompting the feline affectation, that it’s just something she wanted to do. What better justification is there?
Holy shit, a girl just walked in with so many different things going on. Hair cascading with purple, red and straw coloured hues (notable because of the contrast with her delicate Asiatic features. Quite probably not her naturally occurring shade). She’s wearing large red and black headphones with a red cord. A white and black striped crop top, pearl necklace, short shorts and a brown leather jacket. Her leg tattoo is a bare chested, tattooed mermaid with a lavishly detailed tail, bespeckled fin running down its back. Now that she’s taken off her jacket, I can see she has a tattoo of a Spanish galleon on her left bicep, roses flanking it on all sides. Jesus, that’s a compelling character.
Stop. Coffee break at Crafted Cafe. I can’t type well with one hand occupied. Okay, back. Though to you it seems no time has passed. That’s where a better writer would’ve employed convincing literary techniques to reflect the temporal displacement. Seriously, it would’ve been as simple as:
[10 minutes later]
There, done. Satisfied? I hope so, because I don’t know if I have anything else in this bag o’ tricks. I’m not Felix the Cat. Anyway, that drink was strange. A coffee version of the dark and stormy. Half a glass of ginger ale topped with an espresso shot. With a touch of showmanship, the barista told me to heed the process. Upon pouring the shot, the crema formed a murky brown cloud. Dark tendrils of espresso reached down, shadowy and ponderous towards the ice at the bottom. Sinister. Tasted weird though. The cloying taste of soft drink didn’t mesh with the smooth, slightly bitter espresso flavour. Happy to try new stuff, but it’s not gonna land a place on my regular rotation.
Oh, by the way we’re on a street car now.
Oh, by the way, we’re about to jump off a street car now. Don’t worry, it wasn’t particularly notable. Possibly because I didn’t look up from my phone, but what would I really have missed out on? Casting a parting glance, there were maybe 6 or 7 people of differing ages, ethnicities and genders with canes. Is there a grouping happening? A cane-vention? Don’t worry, I high fived myself. And with that I’m out, destination and mic drop reached. Later skaters.