Only… without a camera of course, because like the addle-pated twerp that I occasionally am, I forgot to pack it. Bah.
Two guys sitting across the aisle from me playing a Magic-style card game. (Not sure what it was, but unless they’ve seriously changed the look of the cards, it wasn’t M:TG.) I should also add that what woke me up to see them play was the sound of their D20s hitting the folding tables. More proof that my limbic system favours phonic stimulus? Maybe.
A couple sharing a two-seat bench on the subway, head resting on head, sharing glowing white Apple earbuds. It turns out they got off at the same stop I did, and they paused on the platform to gaze moonily at each other before heading up the stairs in what I then noticed to be matching Sorel boots. I’m not sure what made a bigger impression on me: my smiling at their sweetness, or my horror at my twinge of envy at seeing their boots.
A youngish passenger reading up, face intent, lips pursed, on sustainable building materials for housing. While waiting for the washroom, I snooped the slide for solar panel roofing.
Snow, clustered fluffy and white in the corners of the steps stretching down from the train to the platform. The steps had been completely clear when we boarded.
My face, reflected in the subway window as we hurtled north through the tunnels, looking pale and drawn, dark circles puffy and brooding under my eyes, yet still fairly happy. I was thinking at the time how I seemed to be drawing energy via osmosis from the bustle and crush of the people on the subway. After weeks of feeling exhausted and drained, I was absorbing excited conversation, foot-tapping and giggling from all around me, and feeling it lift me, straighten out my spine, the way coffee (or the sissy sugar-infested mockery of it that I drink anyway) never manages to.
No matter how much I like my current home, I’m never going to stop loving my hometown. It has plenty wrong with it, but I never seem to pull into that train station without perking up just a little, eyes a titch brighter, smile a bit wider.
There’s that expression that says it takes a minute to find a special person, an hour to appreciate them, a day to love them, but then an entire life to forget them. I spend a lot of my time, it seems, dwelling and not-forgetting. Lately, I’m finding that’s bleeding over into time and space as well.
Maybe it’s about time I stopped forgetting to bring my damn camera with me then.