The TD sign grainily mirrored in a hotel-room painting.
“Commissionaire! Commissionaire!”, as a man berates an officer at Passport Canada.
“Where did you come from?” “The same place you did.” Barely overheard as the bus accelerates with an angry hum from its Downtown Eastside stop.
“All we have to do is get this bong back in one piece.”
February 4th, 2014
Her groceries lie strewn along the motorized length of the cashier’s conveyor: Canada Dry staggered Habitat 67 style; cans of tomato paste – upright, fallen, rolling; boxes tumbling over each other in their frenzy to escape; an itinerant banana. They lie there. Broken. Defeated. Victims of a high-speed collision on the checkout aisle.
January 18th, 2014