The Kingsway Post
Earlier this week I saw a lone gentleman, approximately 740 years old, take that first tentative step into a crosswalk along Kingsway and I immediately started talking to him. While alone, in my car with the windows up, of course. “Oh Sir, oh sweet old you, WHERE ARE YOUR GREAT GRANDCHILDREN? You know, the ones that are of able body and could make this crosswalk within the designated time and year, and fetch you whatever earthly essentials you have there, something so important you gathered together all your bones and marrow, swept them into a pair of pants and shoes and actually left your home.” Oh my god, imagine being the person waiting in line behind him waiting to pay? Oh god. It was the best thing I saw all day.
There is a bakery beside my favourite ‘shoving and budging’ produce stand. It is like stepping into a magic land of white and fluffy and neat and squared away. Every baked good is huge, puffed up and almost fake looking in it’s perfection, and since I can’t eat anything in there (high five celiac fuck over!), the boys assure me what I’ve brought home is tasty. Really though, the only thing you need to know about this place is that they sell loaves of bread, with no end pieces, wrapped in clear cellophane with a ribbon. Amazing.
Sign I might be growing up: When I was returning the World's Worst Grocery Cart tm (I had to put my whole body weight into it to avoid careening hard right every six steps. I still managed to smash the edge of it into the bulk foods in front of an employee - rad) I watched a woman in front of me turn away from the carts and get the sun in her eyes. There is a leafless tree with low hanging bare branches right beside the cart return and she walked right under it, half blind, and the branches actually snagged her wool hat and took it clean off her head as she flailed her arms for a while, confused and scared like Tippi Hedren from the Birds. AND I DID NOT LAUGH. I am still at a loss.